The Curse of The Drifting Maiden
by erynis
Summary: Full summary inside. There's Jack, Will, Anamaria, other characters, lots of adventure to be had, curses to be broken, rum to be drunk, treasure to be found, secrets to be revealed and enemies to be made. Myst, humour, adv.
1. Gaol Break

Storyline: **Jack and Will off on usual pirating pillages** (_sorry Elizabeth Swann fans - this story has no real mention of her. It was originally a story written without POTC in mind, but I found I was increasingly portraying my characters with the habits and mannerisms of Jack and Will, so I decided I had nothing to lose except all my millions in a defamationand/or copywritelawsuit_) **When Jack meets a high-spirited lass in the local gaol, he thinks nothing of it, until she is in the lineup as one of his new crew-members. Everything's smooth sailing (if you'll excuse the pun) until Jack steps on a few of the Navy men's toes,makes enemies with some very powerful pirates, and finds out he's been accused of kidnapping some cousin to the Queen. To top it all off, a ghost ship with a crew Jack thought he'sput his rudder to a long time ago has suddenly returned, and the price Jack has to pay to be rid of its company may be higher than he's willing to pay.The crew of this ship are no scurvy, half-rottenedpirates - they're damned maidens, and they'll not beneath using their looks and wiles to murder unwitting men to break their curse. Are Jack and Will going to be their next happlessvictims to their sacrifice? **

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DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Never. Ever. Unless I buy the rights off Walt Disney. Which I wont do. Partially because he's dead. Mainly because I don't have the money.

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Captain Jacques 'Jack' Sparrow woke groggily and disoriented on what felt like a cold stone floor. As this was a fairly regular occurrence for the pirate, he thought nothing of his present state, and instead drew his attentions to the occurrences of the night before. He stretched his cramped muscles out and drew his hands behind his head and contemplated his last known actions. A small smile played on his tanned face as he recalled the tavern. _That booze was something else alright. What did they put in that rum? A friendly atmosphere and exactly what every pirate could ever want. In fact, it catered for all men, not just of the pirate profession. And that lass. She was something alright. _Then his brow creased in a slight frown. _So was that punch._ Jack thought as he visibly grimaced. _Why do all the good ones have to be taken? Furthermore, why do they all have to be taken by hard fisted, quick tempered oafs with no sense of humour? _Jack sighed._ No matter. A pirate's life for me, through and through. _He was still in considerably good spirits, that is, until he attempted to move. The pain in his head was unmatched from any of his previous hangovers. _Bloody hell and hang the virgins! What _did_ they put in that rum? _Slowly Jack sank his head back onto the cold stone. But it was a feeble gesture; his head still pounded. He closed his kohl-lined eyes in resignation.

Jack Sparrow was not your average pirate. Certainly, there are some traits that none of that particular profession can escape. He smelled of sea salt and sweat, of sandalwood, gunpowder and adventure. His face was tanned and his clothes were on the worn side, stiff with salt and the leather soft from wear, same as any other common pirate. And he loved his rum. But that was where all similarities between he and other pirates ended. Jack's face held no weary fine lines that the sea often left on men's faces. His face was not craggy, but slightly weathered. At his late thirties or extremely early forties, it appeared that Jack had reached the age where it seemed he would age no more. It was as if the fresh sea air had preserved his appearance like the sands did to the mummies in Egypt. Only, Jack wasn't dead and rotted and covered in bandages. Except for a recent one over his tender ribs, from a most unfortunate accident with a bayonet and a Red Coat as he was being 'escorted' down to his cell…

As Captain Jack Sparrow lay on the unforgiving stone floor of his miserable cell, he ran a calloused hand through his dark beard in contemplation, his thoughts leagues elsewhere. His beard was not the straggly ring of mange and whiskers most pirates kept, but it had been divided and braided, with the braids ending in small jaded beads and gold trinkets. His moustache he managed to keep reasonably short and tidy. His hair was a mass of dreadlocks, plaits and unruly waves, with several locks of hair woven with other trinkets such as a light gold medallion, a length of bone and several precious stones. His 'grooming' was thanks to a very grateful African tribe, and in respect Jack had never once changed his hair. And to be on the safe side, he never took a brush to it either. It had become his trade-mark, and as he strode purposefully onto the docks or into a tavern, his hair chinked and the gold winked mysteriously. Each trinket woven into his hair had a special significance, but no-one had dared ask the famous Captain. A red bandana kept his hair from falling over his face in the most crucial of times, and his battered tricorn hat was more often than not perched jauntily on his head. If in times of trouble, it was angled down further, casting dark shadows over his high cheek bones and darkening his liquid chocolate eyes to a stormy, dangerous cavernous black. In short, Captain Jack Sparrow looked far too handsome to be a pirate, and far too unsavoury to be a gentleman.

_So why was he here_? He thought to himself in his reverie. Most pirates take on a life of the sea - the pillaging and the plundering - because they have little choice. To them, it was a means to gold, glory and girls. To Jack and very few others, pirating was freedom. On his ship, he could challenge a storm, race the dolphins, taunt the Navy and Davey Jones himself with no worry of the consequences. His crew were his comrades; as loyal as brothers, and the scent of adventure was always carried on the breeze. Even the threat of the Navy was a thrill, not a worry. Let them capture the foolish pirates and have their pompous to-do's at governors' estates. True pirates like him would never be trapped by cell bars or contained by four walls of a house; their adventure could never be quelled. He was Captain Jack Sparrow. Adventure-bound. Ageless. Mysterious. Weary-less. Invincible. Invincible, save the aching of his side and the throbbing of his head.

_Hang on,_ he thought. _That thumping's not in my head._ He opened his eyes again, taking in the sights around him. Stone floor, stone wall, stone roof, iron bars. _They should give me full-time membership._ Jack thought. Gaols had become his second home, after pubs and taverns. Slowly Jack Sparrow sat up, easing his bruised ribs. The pounding still continued from, Jack sourced, the cell next to him. _Splendid; a cell mate_. Jack thought sarcastically. Just what he needed at the moment. Either a whiney, scared youth quaking in his boots or an old drunkard, spinning tales of his whisky-dulled exploits. "Shut _up_!" He cried, losing his cool entirely.

"Begging pardons." Came the short reply. The voice was neither whiney nor slurred. In fact, it sounded… female. He cautiously peered around the wooden pillar that had kept him hidden from view thus far. There, sitting on the hard wooden bench that could also serve as a bed was a lass, about Elizabeth's age, bouncing a hardened leather ball against the stone wall. Jack watched intrigued, as she performed some fairly complicated manoeuvres, from switching hands to different throws, catching it from angles and rebounds. No doubt she was a good toss with a die in a gambling game or two. _Handy to have about,_ Jack thought. _But not in the present state of affairs._

"As much as it is a pretty remarkable thing luv, no matter how many times you throw it, it's certain to return." He remarked gently.

"You don't say?" Came the sarcastic retort. "Sorry." The girl apologised almost immediately. "But it's fairly important I do this." _Crazy as a cut serpent, _Jack surmised

"Okay." Jack sighed slowly, dropping the matter with a dismissive, "Whatever floats your boat darling." For several minutes silence reigned, only to be disturbed by the leather ball's constant _thumping_.

So what's a lass like you doing here?" Jack finally asked, his curiosity getting the best of him. _Mad people were always interesting to talk to, so he might as well make the most of it. It gave one a different perspective on life._

"On holiday, as it were," came the harsh sarcastic reply. _Perhaps not so daft as originally anticipated. Mind you, she was daft enough to be in a hell-hole like this… That being said, so was he. But he was Captain Jack Sparrow. And she was… just a bored rich lass, out for a good night that ended badly. _

"This isn't the place for fun and games luv." Lectured Jack, "I've seen many a rich girl like you come down to mingle with the common folk, have a bit of an _adventure_, and find themselves in places far worse than this at the end of the day."

"I know that." She barked, and then laughed, meanwhile still bouncing and catching the blasted leather ball of hers. "But I'd hardly call my current financial status 'rich.'" She replied darkly. She glanced over at him, intrigued. "So I had you fooled then?" She asked.

"You're – you're not a noble-lady?" Jack questioned in surprise. He considered himself somewhat an expert on picking people, and he was certain she belonged to the upper-class, and her wearing a dress at the present time did nothing to dispel his assumption. She possessed a refined air, a real sense of class, and although she was every bit as dishevelled and dirty as Jack, she still seemed a class above him. He regarded her thoughtfully. She had a porcelain complexion that many women strived to obtain, yet her arms were as tanned as his. Her fingers were long and her nails were clean and shapely. The fingernails were usually a dead give-away of class. Her hair was a honey blonde, but streaked lighter from the sun. Her eyes were a cornflower blue, and at the moment they were dancing with mischief, mocking him.

"No." She confirmed after a period. "I usually dress in breeches and a shirt, but for my certain…role last night, it required I wear something more…refined. Of course, this cursed marshmallow of a cloth would be the reason I got caught." She divulged nothing further, and resumed her assault on the wall with renewed vigour. Jack had to hand it to her; the entire time they'd been talking she had neither dropped the ball nor slackened her pace. She hadn't moved from her perch either. The ball flew into her hand as if attached by a string. Her small victory came at a price, however; Jack could see small cuts where rough and hardened edges of the ball had caught her.

"Luv," he began gently, "what are you really doing?"

"I told you," she said irritably, "Escaping."

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Will Jack escape from his new form of hell? Will Will rescue him? Where is Will, for that matter? Review and Tune in next week to find out.


	2. Escape

**Short chapter today. Perhaps…maybe…possibly…probably…definitely if I get some reviews I may consider posting a longer one. If that isn't blackmail, I don't know what is. Seriously, just write a few words. It doesn't have to even be about the story. Just send me something; anything. Jibberish, Klingon (or whatever it's called); I'm really not fussed. That being said, where were we… ah yes… escaping… **

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At the exact moment footsteps echoed down from the top of the stone steps leading into the gaol. "Stop that blasted noise!" Came the shout.

_Finally,_ Jack thought, _some peace._ That however, was not the case.

"Come down here and make me!" The lass cried back challengingly. Jack decided the girl had a death wish, and retracted his previous decision that she was not raving mad. It had most indubitably been proven that she was; very much so.

Deathly silence was the only reply, followed by quickened footfalls descending down the stairs. The owner of the voice revealed itself to be a squat, ugly man who stunk badly of rancid rum. Jack surreptitiously smelt himself to check he didn't emit such an offensive odour. Nay, he still smelt of the same Jack; the salt of the sea coupled with the faint trace of gunpowder. _The smell of adventure_, Jack thought.

"Ah, it's you." The prison guard stated, addressing the girl. He obviously was aware of the circumstances around her arrest. "Took five of us to hold the hellcat down." The man revealed to Jack, as if he were a companion. "She doesn't look like much, but blimey, three of 'em are still out cold and the other's nursing a broken jaw. Still, it was worth it for me troubles." He said, his eyes gleaming as he gazed over at the lass. _Here's trouble,_ thought Jack.

The girl, for her part, looked unconcerned. She leaned nonchalantly against the wall, still throwing the ball against the wall.

"Oi, stop that!" cried the guard. "Or I'll have to use force." He leered suggestively.

The lass just shrugged. "Make me." She replied indifferently.

"I think I will – oi, lookit what you've done to the wall! Blimey are you going to get it now girl!" He threatened, drawing his baton and unlocking the cell. Jack visibly winced. This was possibly his least favourite part about being a pirate. To her credit, or to her downfall, the girl still bounced her ball, but Jack saw the tensing of her muscles and the slight shift of her weight. As soon as the guard stepped into her cell, she threw her ball with all her might at the wall.

"Like that'll save y-" the guard's sentence was abruptly finished as he crashed to the ground. It took Jack a second to work out what had happened. She'd thrown the hardened leather at the wall at an angle, so it rebounded straight into the man's skull.

"Ouch." Said Jack sympathetically.

"He had it coming." Stated the lass simply, bending down and giving the warden a quick punch to the temple to ensure his compliance as she retrieved the keys at the man's belt. She walked over to Jack's cell, taking careful care to tread none-to-lightly on the fallen man's groin. Jack winced in empathetical pain. "I thought he'd never stick his head in. Still, that's the reason I prefer to be seen as a lad. Much less trouble." She explained simply, ignoring Jack's reaction. "I s'pose I'll be letting you out of your pleasure chamber then?" She finished, spinning the iron keys around her finger.

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So tune in next time (provided you've reviewed) to find out what Jack's answer is (I mean; he might say 'no'. He might want to stay in that comfy gaol cell for ever. It's possible; anything's possible, though highly unlikely). W 


	3. Dancing in the Streets

**Seriously, reviews are the best thing on this earth since chocolate. It gives you the biggest buzz to peer cautiously into your email in-box and discover – reviews! You like me; you really like me! Well, you like the story. The story thus far anyway. I tell you what, it took every ounce of steely determination from me not to update immediately after I saw those reviews sitting in my in-box. I was so excited; I wanted to write more, more MORE. All for you, my loyal readers. Do you feel special? Privileged? But no; everything in moderation. So without further ado, your next instalment, my devoted and dependable readers. **

**Pebbles1234 - I believe it was - was wondering where the blazers Will's disappeared off to. Soon, young grasshopper, all will be revealed… (how's that for a tension builder?) **

**This chapter's a bit boring, so skip over it if you like; like Captain Jack Sparrow always says, "_Whatever floats your boat, luv_." I'll chuck the next chapter in tomorrow, if you find this one boring. **

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"So what are you really after?" Jack asked bemusedly, as he strode out of the prison in the unconscious guard's stolen uniform, shoving the lass in front of him roughly as they passed the other two guards on duty eating lunch.

"Watch where you put those hands, mate." She hissed under her breath, but yelled louder, "Oi. What do you think you're doin'? Wait 'til my father hears about this. Touch me again and you'll be swinging from the 'lows just like all those other lousy proverbiates!"

The guards only give a brief, cursory glance and raised their chipped mugs in a small salute to Jack before swinging back another mug of ale. Jack frog-marched the girl on, out into the bustling, filthy streets of London. Gleaming black horse-drawn carriages pulled by high spirited horses in the matching colour clattered by, the wooden spoke-wheels narrowly missing those bold individuals who wove and dodged between the perilous traffic. Urchins in non-descript grey rags pushed between the hordes of dark tailored suits, lacy dresses and stained workman's clothes, snatching purses, fob watches and jewellery as they shoved by. Some thieves pilfered their gains discretely and successfully, others did not have so much luck, with cries of "Stop! Thief!" following their frantic dash, often with a police officer in hot pursuit.

Jack did not envy the life of a street-urchin, but when he was a boy, he was little better than that. _Those boys better run fast, _Jack thought, _before a life in a rotting hulk in the bay catches up with them. _Jack chose the life on a sea as opposed to living on the streets, or living in a gaol cell. The poor souls that could no longer fit in the over-crowded gaol cells were sent to spend their incarceration in a floating gaol; a disused and unwanted ship, which had seen its last days travelling the open seas, but instead were also sentenced to a life of imprisonment. It was a common sight to look over London's bay in the early morning and see the fog rising off the shimmering grey water, revealing the ships with their masts devoid of any sails, black, stark and skeleton-like in appearance. It gave any mortal man a shiver up their spine to sail past those ships, frozen in time, and hear the moans and laments of the imprisoned men, huddled together in the darkness and dankness of the putrid, leaking bilge of those decaying ships. Jack looked out at the sight every morning and shuddered, knowing it was only Fate and Lady Luck that separated him from those other poor unfortunates on those rotting hulks. _I couldn't spend eternity crammed together in some rotting hulk of a guttered ship, moored 100 yards out of London._ But no, Lady Luck was his good friend indeed, and Jack spent most of his time on the fastest ship in the Caribbean, living like his ship; fast and free. Life on the sea was equally as dangerous as life on the street, but it appealed to Jack. Plus it had the added benefit of hidden treasure, which one did not find lying around so much on the worn cobb-stoned streets of London. Smart people survived on the sea, if they learned quickly enough.

As soon as Jack and the lass passed the threshold of the goal, Jack released her (although somewhat reluctantly – she smelled of spices and a flower that gave him fond memories of a short stint he had in Jamaica). She turned to him in answer of his question,

"I thought what I seek would be obvious to someone in such a profession as yours." She gives a cheeky grin and calmly crossed the bustling, muddy cobbled streets with no fear of being struck down by murderous rumbling coaches or galloping horses - and rightly so, for all traffic had slowed and was watching the fiery, spirited young woman and this eccentric pirate's discussion. She and Jack walked parallel to each other on different sides of the street. Teasingly, she tossed her long hair over her shoulder and Jack watched all the rider's and coachmen's eyes follow its sway, "I be after adventure and treasure, arr!" She concluded, a laugh in her voice and a smile on her lips, but her eyes fixed ahead, not acknowledging Jack.

Jack stopped in the middle of the street, his way hindered by a very public, very loud, very drunken brawl. He elegantly sidestepped a staggering drunkard and attempted to tiptoe around a large drunken prostitute with rosy cheeks and large spirally red ringlets, who promptly grabbed him and began clumsily waltzing and twirling him around. Jack manoeuvred himself to be facing the street, and looking beyond the dancing lady's plump face and over her shoulder, he could just make out the young lass's rapidly retreating figure. He watched, bemused and intrigued, and shouted at her "You mock me, kind lady?"

A coach rumbled by, with a pug-faced noblewoman in the carriage looking down disdainfully at the rather scruffy gentleman of fortune and the drunken, dishevelled prostitute, and Jack lost sight of his quarry. Over the clatter, Jack heard her mischievous voice yell back, "You patronise me, good sir?"

The old drunken lady, obviously sick of Jack's unresponsive dancing, twirled herself around and around, giggling like a child, before she sat down with a huge "pompf" that Jack swore shook several buildings. The lady of the streets simply shook her massive head several times as if to clear it, and Jack took his leave. He bowed to her deeply, stating gravely, "Encore, madam. Well danced," and promptly strode away, the gold that he had lifted off her person that made its way into purse jingling merrily in his tatty pockets.

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**Sorry this chapter's a bit on the tame side (to be honest even I find it a bit boring); no adventure yet – just setting the scene. So yes, scene is now adequately set. I assume you're getting sick of the scenery now, so next update – a change of scenery (gasp, shock). **

**For those of you who want to find out the fate of young William Turner, son of Bootstrap Bill, it's within your best interests to review. Will Turner will make his appearance next chapter, if you all remind me to do so… until then, he remains my hostage. Muah ha. Haha ha. Ha… Ciao. **


	4. A Pirate's Life for Me

**I feel so – I don't think there's words to do this feeling justice – special. Lucky. Blessed. Not only have my loyal reviewers saved Will from a fate worse than death, they thought a line I wrote was worth remembering! I've been quoted! I'm like a famous person or a dead person or something! Okay, maybe I'm getting a bit carried away with that… Egotism getting a bit out of control… **

**(many thanks to Nicole E, Lonaargh, shadowicewolf, Llewellyn for 'rescuing' Will and Pebbles1234 for their initial concern for Will's welfare – Will is eternally grateful)**

**And thus, the return of the said William James Turner, blacksmith turned pirate and too damned handsome for his own good (curse his perfect English/Welsh genes). **

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Jack wandered the streets, whistling a ditty through his white and occasionally golden teeth. As much as he enjoyed the bustle of the streets, the brimming of ale in the taverns and the beauty of the girls of the streets, he began longingly once again for the adventure and unpredictability to sea had to offer. He strode down the street, passing many bars and taverns, before spinning on his booted heel and turning to face the "Sydie Bar." He regarded it for a moment, and then with hands still in his pockets and whistle still in his mouth, sidestepped to the right about three feet.

Several seconds later, Will Turner crashed bodily through the window, arms flailing wildly, landing directly at Jack's scuffed boots. Jack peered down at him, taking in Will's chaotic tangle of dark hair, rumpled and torn garb and day-old stubble. Will's dark-brown eyes - a tribute to his Welsh ancestors - shot Jack a look that clearly said, 'a little help here?' As Jack offered him a calloused hand and hauled him to his feet, he surmised that Will had seen a rough night. The only thing Jack was unsure of was whether Will had been kept up all night from bad drink, or good company…

"Sorry to spoil your stay lad, but adventure awaits, as it were," said Jack as he pulled Will to his unsteady feet. Will staggered slightly and after checking that nothing seemed broken, brushed the dust and shattered glass off his dishevelled clothes.

"A pity; I think they were just starting to warm up to me." Will remarked sardonically.

They both ducked instinctively they heard a loud crack, and sure enough, a bullet from a musket streaked past them, shattering what glass remained in the bar's front window and showering them with the fragments. Will sighed and shook the glass off his coat, wondering why he bothered even stepping off the Black Pearl in the first place. "_Come on, lighten up," _Jack had said_," Have some fun. What could possibly go wrong with a little harmless drink amongst mates? _That was the trouble with Jack; he was so damn persuasive. The other irritating thing about Jack Sparrow was that he was Jack Sparrow. And Jack Sparrow tended to attract trouble like a candle drew in moths. That was the good thing and the bad thing about him. Some days it was most definitely a good thing. Today it was a bad thing.

"Oi, you lot'll be payin' fa that!" Came the proprietor's warning growl as he stuck his bleary whiskered face out the window above their heads, from his living quarters on the second floor.

"I believe it's time to wave bye-bye to your new bosom buddies and alas abscond from this incredibly inviting establishment." Jack replied, untying a horse from the fastening post in front of the bar.

"Funnily enough, that was my plan from the start." Will muttered, following suit.

_Of course, I had to choose the slowest horse_, Will thought as his urged his steed – _more like old nag_ – to keep up with Jack's. "Seeing as you know how my day's been thus far, how did you fare?" Will asked. Not being much interested in the company of the pub, Will had retired to his sparse quarters upstairs, leaving Jack and his rum downstairs. He had awoken to find no Jack inside or outside the flea-hole that was the tavern. Not surprising. What had been surprising was the short, curly haired women he had woken up face-to-face with.

"Whoops, wrong room." She had giggled, but seemed to make no attempt to find the correct one. Will had shot up in alarm, and was hurriedly attempting to politely shift her outside when a hulking, broad shouldered, bearded man had thrown open the door, seized Will by his collar and the back of his breeches and bodily thrown him out the window. Luckily for Will, the man was the girl's brother, not her betroved or her husband, so the hulk did not require any further vengeance. Except to shoot at them. Due to that debacle, Will suspected that Jack had encountered more luck that night than him.

"I left to pursue a much more decent and comfortable abode." Jack replied airily and vaguely as they rode side by side through the rumbling carriages and galloping horses.

"Which would be?" Will asked, a smile on his face. He was betting Jack went with the raven-haired vixen he had been dancing with the night before.

"My second home; the famously frequented and extremely comfortable local gaol." Jack answered shortly. Will's smile slid from his face.

"A pirates life for us, hey?" He said sympathetically.

"I'm not complaining." Jack said. "It was all peachy until everything went pear-shaped... Ah well; sour grapes for all fruits involved."

Will decided not to try to translate that sentence into intelligent English. Some mysteries were better left unsolved. "Where are we going?" He called to Jack's rapidly diminishing figure, as his own nag begun to lag behind Jack's. Will had a nasty feeling he would be left behind shortly with only his slow, niggling mare for company, while Jack rode off into the horizon in the pursuit of adventure. As usual.

"Sam, the old bosun, has arthritis and has taken leave." Jack called back over his shoulder to Will, "He was also our local weather forecaster with those knees of his… A pity; he could play a good game of Rum Chummy. Stomach of steel. And generally, we'll be needing more crew. It's a long journey, and I want to break a few in. I might even be able to afford a cabin-boy or two…" Sparrow dreamed.

_Ahh_, thought Will, _the epitome of luxury and wealth in pirating circles. The equivalent of servants for the upper-class._ He was glad he hadn't hadto start as cabin boy. Lots of cleaning and scrubbing of the entire ship. And on some ships, test-taster of the 'food' the 'cooks' produced. Also, cabin boys were a good source of entertainment and amusement for bored pirates. Get them drunk and they did all sorts of interesting things; staggered around the top-deck like a headless chicken, tangle themselves up in the rigging and backstays, sung rude ditties in an incredibly high and squeaky voice from the Crows Nest…The possibilities were endless. Get two of them and you could pit them together in a make-shift fighting ring, or lather them up with soap and water so they'd slide over the sea-soaked wooden decks, then race them up and down the decks. You lost a few of them overboard though...In short, a cabin boy's life was wrought with danger. But then, so were the lives of most pirates. Murder, betrayal, mutiny and a short life expectancy was sort of in the job description of a pirate. But on the positive side, so was priceless treasure.

The cost of riches came at a price, however. Pirates had to dodge the Royal Navy, other pirating ships in the area and storms and seas that had their own mind about whether ships sailed over the seven seas or under them. Inexperienced pirates also had trouble with the merchant ships they were trying to rob; their 'foolproof' commandeering of the vessel didn't always go exactly to plan. And the problem with not following the plan when you were pirates was that people often ended up dead.

Merchants hated them, ship owners loathed them, the bar and tavern proprietors hated the damage to their properties yet loved the colour of their money, the navy loved to hate them, the general crowd feared them and the whores neither loved them nor hated them. Whores tended to care about little. So it was no surprise that pirates associated with other pirates. Once in the life of piracy - or any crime for that matter - it was hard to turn from. Most pirates were that – common criminals and petty thieves. Some were cold-blooded murderers but most were just out for food and shelter and a chance of a life in luxury. Their loyalty could be bought as often as a coin changed hands and it waxed and waned more often than the moon. Jack would have a tough time trying to find some honourable men amongst the general pirate rabble.

Will shook himself out of his deep reverie, picked up his head and scanned the backs of the horsemen's heads for a sign of Jack's unique three-pointed captain's hat. He got several smiles and glances from the ladies passing in the streets and carriages, but he saw none of Jack's conspicuous clothing, and had no hope of hearing his whistles over the din of the street. He sighed and dismounted from his horse where it stood in the middle of the road; exceedingly glad to be rid of the lagging nag. He slapped its rump and watched in satisfaction as it galloped off into the crowd as if someone had lit a fire-cracker under its tail, upsetting several ladies out for a morning ride through the town. Will stepped calmly off the busy road and onto the sidewalk – which was in all respects just as crowded and bustling - and thought to himself in amusement, _that's the fastest the ancient beast has probably ever gone in all its miserable life._.

He turned and headed for the direction of the docks. The presence of a pirating ship in the harbour and the story of Jack's obvious gaol escape would have every professional and amateur pirate at the docks by noon, the traditional pirate meeting time for an interview and appraisal, pirate style.

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**Next instalment – the new crew. Some characters may be re-appearing, hint hint. The Black Pearl returns. The continued adventures on the high seas. There'll be a Naval ball coming up soon that everyone is loathe to attend. **


	5. Beer and a Bath

**Just occurred to me, I'll be using some old English words in the story, to give it that authentic feel, like. So, if you're not comprehending the lingo, review and ask. Or use a really, really ancient dictionary and look up the word yourself. The closest adventure is the chapter after next, where someone upsets the Navy, and to escape the long drop and short stop at the end of the noose, they have to attend a Naval ball. But with Jack drunk, will they make amends or get into even more trouble than before? **

**A 'Polyglot' is a linguist; a person that speaks more than one language. **

**Ile de la Tortue – Turtle Island. You'll know it from the movie as "Tortuga." **

**Jacob's ladder - the rope ladder they lower over the sides of the ship to board or disbark. **

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"You, you, you and you." Jack said, striding up and down the length of the pier, where the pirate hopefuls were waiting in a scraggly line. He nodded to several of the men, and they stepped forward. Jack peered at them intently.

"If I were to travel to the Spice Islands, my direction would be?" He asked.

"Southwest then Northeast." Came a voice, and it was not from the chosen few standing out in front. Jack frowned, but both he and Will could not place where the voice had come from.

"Which ale do you gents prefer – Hound or Wildcat? Hands up for the answer." He barked. About seven young men, barely out of boyhood, and some still in it, raised their eager hands.

"Sorry gents." Jack apologized, sounding sincere, "but neither exists. You would nought be able to survive on this voyage. I need toughened men; men that have actually set foot in a bar, for a starter, not babes barely out of their mother's arms. I'll not be responsible for them waiting up every night hoping for any news of their mislaid children. Try your luck on a ship heading to Northern Africa or some other shorter distance." The rebuked lads bowed their heads and trudged off. Several of the older men sniggered at the unfortunate's lack of simple bar knowledge. Hound or Wildcat ale indeed!

Jack turned once again to the ragged assemble and once more strode back and forth, contemplating the men.

"Your favourite brew?" He asked one bald fellow with yellowed teeth but intelligent blue eyes.

"Madagascar Mead."

"Good man. Good choice." Jack nodded in approval. "Welcome aboard." Will merely raised his eyebrow at Jack's unorthodox manner of choosing crew members that were, as the Pirating Articles stated 'to follow their Captain to the depths of hell and back'. The deepest circle of hell was reserved for mutineers and traitors, and pirates, being ofthe superstitious race they were, believed this clause with all their minds. But that being said, pirates could also be easily influenced by the promise of gold and an easier life than the hard, unforgiving life the sea offered. But no doubt the crew would stick to their word and remain loyal to Jack. Jack was, after all, Captain Jack Sparrow.

Jack asked more questions of the crew, about ship maintenance and sea conditions. He had several men chosen and was about to dismiss the remaining crowd when, on his last swoop of the line, he paused on the last man. A lad, really, about 17 years of age. No real muscle on him, but he had some height. He was dressed the same as all of the rest of them – in a rumpled and dirtied shirt, torn breeches, scuffed shoes and a patched coat much too big for him, but for some reason they hung differently on him. He made them look more presentable, as if they were tailored for him specifically.

"Name?" Jack inquired interestedly.

"And if I don't have one?" Came the reply.

"Than I'll invent one, and I'm feeling particularly adventurous today." Jack threatened.

"Alex." Came the reluctant answer.

"Would Mister Alex care to raise his head? I prefer if I can tell whether you're a wanted murderer now, rather than onboard my ship and one bloodied body later." Jack asked.

The lad raised his head and glared at Jack contemptuously. Jack studied the boy closely. A fine, thin nose, thick lashes and stormy grey eyes that at the moment were flashing lightning directed at Jack.

"You do realise that you'll be away from your bonny-lasses for months to years on a time?" Jack questioned derisively. This one looked like a pretty-boy through and through. The lad merely snorted in mock amusement. Jack, failing to see the joke,seemed to disregard him and turn back on his heel, continuing back up to the where Will was standing. But after he had taken no more than two steps away from the young lad, he abruptly turned to face the boy, his pistol drawn at pointing directly between the boy's contemptuous eyes.

"What would you be doing now boy?" Jack asked, his kohl eyes squinting down the glinting silver barrel. "And be careful, mind – it's loaded. The lad's eyes widened in surprise, and Will couldn't help grinning; it served the fellow right for being so arrogant.

Alex raised his handsslowly skyward in defeat. Jack watched his submissive hands in satisfaction, but as soon as he took his eyes off the boy, the lad's leg shot up in a crescenting kick that struck Jack fingers exactly where he held the gun. Jack swore loudly and lost his grip on the musket. Not entirely, but it slipped enough that it would only blow holes in the rotting pier deck, not the lad's brain. The lad stepped forward andclapped his two hands over Jack's gun hand, and with his two thumbs quickly forced the gun to turn in Jack's palm until it faced Jack's chest. All this was done lightning fast and took less than two seconds.

"That," the lad said forcefully, not even breathing heavily, "is what I'd be doing." He replied. Jack took his hat off and bowed to the boy good humouredly.

"It seems I'm mistaken. We would be liking your fine company aboard our ship, young Alex." Jack said fairly, before turning back towards Will. Again, he took no more than two steps before he spun on his heel and addressed Alex again.

"Turn around, boy." He said. Alex looked as if for a moment he might refuse, but he reluctantly turned his back on the captain.

"Aha." Jack cried, seizing the ribbon that held the lad Alex's hair back into a low pony-tail. Jack pulled it out with a relish. The boy did not move until Jack permitted him to turn around once again.

"What gave me away?" The boy asked sullenly as he once more faced Jack. Will and the others gasped audibly. Facing them now was a young lady, not a young lad. Once the long blonde hair framed the high cheek-bones and button mouth, it made the features more delicate, and it was obvious of her gender, despite the breeches and shirt. She had transformed in seconds from a tatty pretty boy to astriking lady, and several of the men were staring with their eyes popping out of their heads.

"No male on this earth could kick as high as you just did now," Jack remarked, in answer to her question. The rest of the crew brayed in hearty laughter. Jack took a step forward and leaned in over Alex, whispering in her ear, his breath warm and his voice rasping slightly, "And you, my dear, you smell like spices." He drew back smirking, so see what effect he'd had on the lass.

"And you, Captain Jack Sparrow, smell like a pirate." Hmmm...not reallythe effect he was aiming for.

"What do you mean by it?"

"What I mean by it, Mr Sparrow, is that you need a good soak." Jack stepped away in mock horror.

"A soak! Did you hear that men?" He asked loudly, addressing the assembled crew. "I much doubt this mangy lot have had a bath since their christening, should the godless creatures have ever had such, yet you proclaim it is _I _that require a bath." He teased, turning back to the waiting crowd. "Alright, these miserable mongrels I've picked will do. The rest will have to wait for another sorry captain to grant you a wretched job. If that's the case, see you at Tortuga."

Most of the crowd slopped off, but a few of the more experienced motley obviously expected to be picked in Jack's line-up.

"How come she stays?" Spat a hulking man that towered over Jack. Jack felt him block out the sun, he was so huge.

"Because," Jack replied, taking a step back so he could look at the man in his ugly face, "I'm the Captain and I said so. Anyone else care to take issue with a women being on board?" Jack questioned. "No?"

"Then hope you don't run into me at Ile de la Tortue." Hissed the giant. "Or your crew will be one Captain short." He threatened. "And I may have an additional crew-member." He snarled, glowering at Alex. Alex merely bowed sardonically.

"Until then, _mon Capitaine_." She replied mockingly. The hulk made as if to back-hand her, but Jack's hand moved almost imperceptibly towards the musket at his belt, and Will openly drew his cutlass.

"Until then," he leered and lumbered off.

"He'll be waiting a long time if he tries it on my watch." Will muttered to himself, re-sheathing his blade.

Jack turned back to Alex. "Do you have a death-wish, lass?" He hissed. "…Hold the cannon-fire – you're the one from the gaol." Jack remarked, squinting at her. Will couldn't believe that Jack had been thrown in goal and he still managed to meet a beautiful girl. Some people get all the luck.

"Adventure searching extraordinaire, that's moi." Alex replied.

"That's twice you've spoken French. You a polyglot?" Jack asked.

"Non, Monsieur Capitaine. Ich kann verstellen Sie nicht. Me no savvy." Alex fired off, speaking in three different tongues; French, a European and a Blackamoor.

"Well, at least we know you'll be useful for something." Jack remarked lightly. "I need a linguist on board. Helps with the deception should we chose to take a merchant vessel by surprise in foreign waters. You, my dear, shallget the supreme honour of boarding an enemy vessel first and tell them what they want to hear. You're the distraction. Lucky you. You were after adventure, no?"

Alex merely grinned, flashing surprisingly straight white teeth. "Aye, kind sir." She replied cheekily. Jack turned back to the newly-chosen crew.

"Now, to the nearest bar to celebrate, I think. Ale all round." Jack cried enthusiastically. "And maybe some soaking too, if I get around to it."

"Beer and a bath. Now _that_ I understand." Alex murmured and followed Jack's new crew.

As Jack passed by his ship, he slapped the side loudly three times and continued on his way. Almost immediately the entire crew of the Black Pearl streamed out of the ship, lowering the Jacob's ladder or jumping off the sides to follow Jack. "You're supposed to be cleaning the ship." Jack muttered darkly, but made no move to send them back, even though he knew they were most probably hiding new reserves of rum in the apple barrel and generally slacking off. And they had the nerve to think that Captain Jack Sparrow, wiliest and most charming pirate this side of the seven seas didn't know all the tricks of the trade. The apple barrel was the first place any pirate would look for rum...

There was a brief pause in the motley crew's purposeful stride as to wait for a dim-witted sailor who had jumped off the wrong side of the ship and into the cold water of the bay,and hehad to slowly dog-paddle his way to the pier. While the other men laughed heartily at him, the unfortunate sailor shook himself off like a dog and muttered, "At least I'll not be needing another one of those until next time we dock." The others shut up hurriedly.

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**Pebbles1234 – I've read the first few of Sir Arthur Coonan Doyle's Sherlock stories, and I am deeply honoured with the praise. I never realised it, but Jack and Will are sort of like Holmes and Watson. Jack's just that little bit more worldlier; just a little bit more perceptive than the rest of the general population. **

**Shadowicewolf – I promise I'll read your stories – just as soon as I finish studying for my exams. It's a struggle to find time to even write at the moment. **


	6. The Damned Maidens

**Ugh: Exams. Eventually, like it or not, we're all going to cark it/die/expire/cease our miserable existence, and I fail to see how learning about integers can possibly console me over that fact… **

**Hey all - this chapter is sort of like 'Filler Art' for a FF, if you get my flow. Not that crucial to the plotline, but just some background information. I have finals soon (actually, like now – thanks to all who reviewed and wished me luck for exams), but I still want to update and give you guys something to read, so yeah. It may be a little bit light-on for the next week or so, sorry all. Next chapter will be back on track, I swear. **

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The bar is dark, barely lit by the waning candles dripping wax onto their rusting brackets screwed crookedly onto the walls. The only sound comes from the muffled chinking of beer mugs being set back onto scuffed tables and coins exchanging hands. The slight slap of cards being presented to the rest of the betting party and slurring murmurs also carry back to the bartender, wiping and storing the freshly-cleaned mugs away under the scratched counter. It's around two of the clock in the morning, so the assembled pirates, thieves, gamblers and other low-life characters that frequent bars and inns at that time in the morning are muted; ready to down their last pint or bet their last coin before they dejectedly leave the warmth of the bar and travel down the desolate streets of London to wherever it is that they carry out the rest of their sorry lives. The only reason the bartender hasn't closed the bar yet is due to the below-freezing temperature outside. Several hours ago a snow-storm had blown up, pounding against the dusty windows and whistling through the cracks of the wooden boards, eerily blowing out all the already-spluttering candles. Ice frosting had coated the glass, and the entire bar had sat in silence for almost an hour, hardly daring to breathe. Something didn't feel right. It was only half-an-hour ago that the storm had ceased without warning, and since then silence had reigned outside the bar; the streets eerily quiet, not even the clatter of horse's hooves echoing down the cobbstones had pierced the silence.

Just as the bartender moved away from his counter to begin coercing the drunks out into the cold night air, the oaken doors of the bar had burst open, making most jump in their seats and curse blackly as they slopped the remanets of their brew onto their laps. A lad really, only just out of boyhood had stumbled in, his clothing almost frozen to his thin frame, his ginger hair, eyebrows and lashes coated in a fine layer of ice. His face was deathly white and his lips were blue. He clearly had been out of doors during the blizzard. In truth, the boy had swum all day from the burning wreckage of the ship he had once crewed on, to reach the shore, only to discover he was surrounded by a snow-storm. It was remarkable he had survived as long as he had.

"What ails you, boy?" The bartender asks gruffly, more out of surprise than annoyance.

"They're gone; they're all gone!" The boy explains feverishly. "They took them. They took them all." He babbles. The bartender shrinks back from the lad as if he's carrying the plague. The boy has clearly gone mad. He's seen things he can't handle, he can't understand. Hysterical, the boy continues,

"They killed most of them. But some they took with them. I didn't see who… They stole them… How were we to know; how could we possibly know? They looked so harmless…"

Intrigued, one of the gamblers turns around in his seat and asks,

"Who? Who took whom?"

The boy looks at him blankly, his teeth chattering. He's so cold he's beyond shivering. His fingers and toes are black with the cold, and his heartbeat is slowing. Despite the relative warmth of the bar, the blood is freezing in his veins. Uncomprehending of the gambler's question, the boy continues his spiel,

"A cursed day in hell when we allowed them on board. We never suspected… we never saw it coming… how could they kill so many so quickly… so much blood…and their eyes…" The boy breaks down into hysterical gulping sobs that rack his tiny frame.

The bartender grabs the boy's frozen shoulders to steady him. The bartender feels the cold seep through the boys clothing to engulf his own chapped hands, numbing them instantly, but he doesn't loosen his grip on the boy; he wants to know now. Which crew has mysteriously disappeared, and how? When? Today? Last week? He wants to know.

"Who was it, boy? Who killed them?" The bartender demands as the boy collapses to the floor; his muscles and bones no longer able to support his slight weight.

"Somebody fetch a doctor!" The bartender calls in shock, kneeling down to try to help the boy, but the present criminals are either too drunk, or too hardened to care. Why should they leave the comfort of the bar to fetch a doctor for the scrawny brat?

"Didn't know… how could we… devils every one of them… cursed…" The boy whispers.

"Who were they!" The bartender bellows, shaking the boy roughly in his impatience and rage, the boy's gingered head hitting the hard wooden floor.

"They were women… demons… demons dressed as maidens…" The boy stammers, eyes rolling up in the back of his head.

Incensed he couldn't get the boy to speak sense, the bartender slaps the boy's face to try to make his regain some sense.

"Who attacked your crew!" The bartender feels the boy's frail heart finally stop beating and his body emits a shudder.

"The Damned Maidens." And the boy goes limp.

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**You may have noticed this chapter has changed tense. Felt like a change. Hope it doesn't annoy or confuse anyone. Let me know if it does and I shall desist. The next chapter will be more like normal, I swear. **

**Apologies for my crude German in the previous chapter (to Heldin especially, seeing as your profile's in German) – I forgot to warn you all and a few of you picked up on it. I am unfortunately not bi-lingual (even my own grasp on English can at times be described as pitiful) so any translations are courtesy of a free on-line translation data-base, but hopefully you all get the general gist of the conversation. Apologies again to anyone who's a native speaker of any other language I've used/will ever use in this FF and feels like I've bastardised and hacked apart their language. The main moral of this is; just because I did German in year 8 studies doesn't mean I should go spouting it around. Lesson learned. **


	7. Abel Brown and Maggie May

**Hey all; back on track this update – a relatively short chapter, sorry, until exams are over (soon, I promise, soon). Starting from where I last left off, Jack and his merry men are off to celebrate the newest editions to his motley crew; 'Alex' included (who, may I say, is doing pretty well for someone I initially designed to be a minor character. I was going to have her pop up from time-to-time, but she's too much of a fun character to leave out of the adventures). **

**The sea-shanty I've used in this chapter is legitimately one the old sailors used to sing; called "_Maggie May_." The language towards the end is a bit strong, so those that are easily offended, ignore it. I like it for it's historic value. **

**NB: An Abel Brown - a vulgar sea shanty.**

**Botany Bay – penal settlement on the Australian Coast, recently established in those times (which probably means my timeline's out of sync...) **

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'_Oh, I'll never forget the day when I first met Maggie May,  
She was standing on a corner at Canning Place,  
In a full-sized crin-o-line, like a frigate of the line,  
And as she saw I was a sailor I gave chase…'_

Will surveyed the blonde girl Alex over his tankard in the tavern, struggling to hear his own thoughts over the loud bellowing of the ballad of _Maggie May_. Each time Will was in a pirating port, he swore new verses got added to the shanty. Although Will was not one to drink, he needed the pick-me-up after the previous night's affairs. Still, why did the ale come in such huge mugs?

"_Next morning when I woke, I found that I was broke,  
No shoes or shirt or trousers could I find,  
When I asked her where they were, she answers "My dear sir,  
They're down in Lewis' pawnshop number nine."_

Alex herself seemed at ease and totally calm. She joined in the boisterous drinking song, seeming to know the Abel Brown off by heart, partook in some hearty arm wrestles (a few of which she actually won), drunk a few beers and ale, was even persuaded to dance a couple of times and overall, appeared as if she was having a good time. But in the middle of her telling of a rude story between a hag, a noble duke and a pirate, her eyes took on a far-away look – as if she wasn't really there. Will knew the look well enough – he wore it often on nights such as these, when the company was drunk out of their skulls and it was pointless trying to pretend anything interesting was happening. But the next time he glanced up, her eyes were shining while the others whooped loudly at the punch-line of the anecdote.

Jack sat calmly at the bar, swaying slightly in his seat, until he pitched forward, passing out still seated on his barstool, his head resting in his tanned arms on the bar. The bartender shook his head, and addressed the man two seats down from Jack, who was cradling a large scar down his bandaged right arm.

"What happened to you, mate?" The bartender asked conversationally. Bartenders were bigger gossips than the whores that spread hearsays faster than they passed on the Trap.

The man groaned at the memory. "Ship-wrecked. Today's me f'rst day back in a decent bar, as it were." The bartender nodded in sympathy. That would explain why the lad had downed about 30 pints of beer in one hour.

"Did you know, we had a young shipwrecked lad in here nought past for days ago. Was 'e one o' yours?"

"Dunno." Replied the man in a tone that implied he didn't really care either. The bartender shot a glance at Jack, who happened to let loose an ear-rupturing snore at that exact moment. Satisfied Jack posed no harm, the bartender dropped his voice and continued.

"'Alf mad 'e wos, yabbering on abou' some wrench's that 'ad done in 'im and 'is ship. Killed or captured all of 'em but 'im or some-ant. 'E died but; soon aft 'e stepped through me doors. It weren't me fault," the bartender added defensively, "the lad 'ad been out in the bleeding snow-storm we 'ad last week. Stupid boy. Scared out of 'is wits 'e wos. I still dunno if 'e died from cold, or from shock."

"Ain't that somethin'." The scarred drunk replied disinterestedly. He was only concerned in tasting the golden brew that had been so long denied to him in his hour of finest need.

Shrugging, the bartender turned back to wiping over the bar, cleaning around Jack's inert figure. As soon as the bartender had passed him, Jack cracked open an alert and definitely sober eye. "Interesting…" He murmured to himself as his crew burst back into song behind him.

"_She was chained and sent away from Liverpool one day,  
The lads all cheered as she sailed down __the bay__,  
And every sailor lad, he only was too glad  
They'd sent that old whore out to Botany Bay_."

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**Thanks again to my loyal reviewers – my reviews extend over a page now! I feel as though my life is complete; I've got over 20 reviews! dances the 'I've-got-over-20-reviews-dance' in one of those swivelly office chairs **

**Many thank again, especially to Lonaargh, Shadowicewolf and Pebbles1234, who review -seriously -every chapter. **

**Lonaargh, what are you talking about? Saying you can't write proper English – shame on you. Your last chapter of 'Catching up with the Past' made me cry. IT MADE ME CRY! uses pro-offered hanky (I'll get you a new hanky.)**

**Pebbles1234, you write the best reviews! They give me the biggest ego boost for the rest of the day! It's better than chocolate! Sorry if my writing style is a bit…strange (for lack of a better word). I get in trouble all the time for using too many commas instead of full-stops. "_Stop abusing commas,_" I get told. "_A sentence should _not_ be three lines long_."… Oops… ah well, as Jack says: '_sticks'n stones, luv_.'**

**Shadowicewolf, the only reason my chapters are solong is because the concepts and storyline were already written by me several years ago. It was a really rough story, so I just tailored it to suit POTC (which is why there's no Elizabeth). That's the only reason:) Besides, it's quality that counts, not quality ;)**


	8. The Drifting Maiden

**Tomorrow is my last test, so this chapter has to be short, sorry. Damn, I'm looking at it uploaded on the server now; it's short. Tomorrow, I swear… tomorrow I'll be back on track… This Chapter's written in the 'darker' style, seeing as Pebbles1234 likes it so much. Hope you enjoy.**

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The ship is dark and foreboding, rising out of the fog misting over the deep grey sea like a resurrected corpse. The wood, once a polished mahogany, is covered permanently with a thin layer of ice, giving it a ghostly-white, almost translucent appearance. Mould and mildew stain the once pristine sails, now ruined and dripping with sea water, and its splintered masts are streaked with seaweed. Deck planks and boards are black with rot and decay; it's once handsome trimming chipped and cracked. The lines and rigging hang limp from their mizzens and spars, crumbling and swinging in the slight breeze. Cannonballs roll loosely around the decks, making an eerie dull thudding and rumbling noise as the ship dips and rolls over the choppy seas. Broken glass, bones and debris litter the decks, and the ship lists slightly to the starboard side. Windows are dark and shattered, and dim light emits softly from the cabin windows, casting long and deep shadows. 

The ship's figure-head, once a delicately carved beautiful maiden so elaborately crafted it appeared real, has decomposed to that of a corpse. The ghoul-like figure's ruby-red eyes glimmer out of its skeletal face, piercing the fog, its clothing in tatters, glimpses of festering flesh and yellowed bone visible underneath. The wooden maiden's once lustrous hair hangs limply in matted clumps, its once white teeth are blackened and cracked, its lips pulled back into a sneering grimace. Its hand – half revealed bone, with flesh hanging off the clawed fingers – outstretches and beckons. As the ship slides silently through the murky water, and disappears back into the oppressive fog, her faded name materialises into view briefly. Scratched onto the ship's boards as if by clawed fingernails, reads the name: THE DRIFTING MAIDEN.

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**Wow – so many reviews! Thanks all – you flatter me; you really do. Every day, at the end of the day, I hurtle back to my computer, furiously pound the keyboard in frustration until it boots up, then click straight to to read my reviews. I laugh, I squeal, I blush; it's great. You wouldn't believe how many people confessed that they too chronically use commas instead of periods. I felt such a sense of relief. **

**Lonaargh – I got the sea shanty off this really good internet site – they have hundreds, in all these different languages! The lad that was shipwrecked died, unfortunately - another innocent victim of the 'Drifting Maiden.' As for what Alex is going to do next? I'm not really sure; she was originally a supporting character, but as much as I love writing Jack and Will's character, I wanted a character of my own, that could react to things how I wanted her to. Plus, I believe there should be a lot more female pirates out there :) Arr! Jack and Will's next adventure? They have a run-in with the Navy shortly… soon…very soon…like, next chapter soon.**

**Wolf.at.Heart – I hope the grammatical errors didn't detract from the story; I hate when I make typos and errors etc. Unfortunately, I do so quite regularly, but I do try to proof-read the chapter at least three times. Sometimes the nasty beggars just slip by… grrr… **

**Heldin – I'm glad you don't think Alex is a Mary Sue; she's not. I just wanted a character of my own, but I hope she fits in alright… some stories have new characters and they just don't have the same feel; they don't seem to belong. It's hard getting a female pirate into that era, but I'm trying to base her on other female characters from pirating novels and Anamaria, who doesn't take $hit from nobody. Headstrong and tough, but not too masculine; there's a fine line between the two. The last thing I want is a Mary-Sue swanning about the place, fainting into pirate's arms every two seconds. Not to condemn people who write or read Mary-Sues; there's some really great and funny ones out there, but my FF isn't one of them. **

**Kara Adar – Your wish has been granted :)**

**The GothyFaery – You're too kind! I'm not that good; I just like writing, and pirates and treasure. Put it altogether and you get this POTC FF.**

**Pebbles1234 - I love your story; it makes me laugh at least three times every chapter. Actually, I laugh a lot more than that. And not just those little snorts of laughter – I'm talking belly-laughter-for-five-minutes-straight... Yes, I agree that it's almost as if Jack has two personalities; the drunken rogue who gets into scrapes every five seconds and the deeper, more withdrawn, serious pirate, who carries the weight of the lives of his crew on his shoulders. I am going to try to inject some more humour into Jack and Will shortly. Very soon.**

Sorry my replies to reviews are longer than the chapter! I feel so ashamed...


	9. Don't you lay aboard

**Hah; a traitor's death to those dastardly exams. Now only the results shall return to haunt me… Thanks for everyone's support during my tests! I'm glad everyone liked the 'darker' chapters. I might throw a few more in from time to time, if it could be worked into the storyline without disrupting the flow of the plot, seeing as I got so much positive feedback ;) **

**NB: Keelhauling: the act of tying someone to a rope, then throwing them overboard, so that they fall underneath the ship. Some say the barnacles etc underneath the ship cut the person to ribbons, others accounts say the person comes out intact at the rear of the ship, with a few pints of water in their lungs.**

**Shake a leg: The saying originated when females regularly used to work and live on ships. Men begun work earlier in the morning, so to tell whether the people sleeping in the hammocks were men or women, they'd yell out to, 'shake a leg,' so they could see who to wake. **

**Avast: Halt; stop. I think I've explained every other foreign concept in the text of the chapter. **

**The sea shanty I've used is the 'Pirate Song' that was allegedly created and used by pirates. **

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Jack strode out onto the main deck of the Black Pearl, feeling the warm sun on his back and the scent of the sea on the breeze. He savoured the taste of it on his tongue, taking in a deep breath to relish the freedom, the beauty, the majesty of the sea, to take a peaceful moment to reflect on his life thus far and to,

"Man the yards; haul the sails, you scurvy dogs!" He bellowed, making the crew relaxing on deck jump to their feet. The remainder could be heard thundering up from below deck, anxious to please Jack. "Come on you lazy scallywags! You know the procedure. Shake a leg!" Jack bellowed, taking up his usual place by the wheel, his compass out and his hat tipped up, measuring the wind direction and speed.

"Bert, if you don't secure that flying jib and mainsail, you'll be the first soul on this voyage to experience a keelhauling, savvy?"

"Yessir." Bert replied ashamedly and hurriedly climbed the rigging. "Fosters, tie a knot like that again and you'll be cleaning the poop-deck for a week straight." Fosters attacked the knot with renewed vigour. "And Jones, attend to the lines on the gaffs." Jack finished.

"Which gaffs?" Asked Gilbert Jones, a new crew member, all lank and legs.

"Those gaffs!" Jack gestured impatiently, throwing both arms in the air irately and flailing them about. Jones interpreted Jack's actions as meaning he should attend to all the gaffs, and hurriedly saw to it.

"Smart man." Jack murmured under his breath. "He'll keep."

_To the mast nail our flag, it is dark as the grave,  
Or the death which it bears while it sweeps o'er wave;  
Let our deck clear for action, our guns be prepared;  
Be the boarding-axe sharpened, the scimitar bared:  
Set the canisters ready, and then bring to me,  
For the last of my duties, the powder-room key._

_It shall never be lowered, the black flag we bear;  
If the sea be denied us, we sweep through the air.  
Unshared have we left our last victory's prey;  
It is mine to divide it, and yours to obey:  
There are shawls that might suit a sultana's white neck,  
And pearls that are fair as the arms they will deck. _

There are flasks which, unseal them, the air will disclose  
Diametta's fair summers, the home of the rose.  
I claim not a portion: I ask but as mine  
'Tis to drink to our victory - one cup of red wine.  
Some fight, 'tis for riches - some fight, 'tis for fame:  
The first I despise, and the last is a name.

I fight, 'tis for vengeance! I love to see flow,  
At the stroke of my sabre, the life of my foe.  
I strike for the memory of long-vanished years;  
I only shed blood where another shed tears,  
I come, as the lightning comes red from above,  
O'er the race that I loathe, to the battle I love.

They'd barely put Britain to their rudder and lost sight of land when Jack suddenly turned on his heel and groaned. Grumpily he pulled a brass looking-scope out of the folds of his bottomless coat, extending it with a small huff of annoyance and pointing it west of the English coastline they'd just put to their rudder.

"Can't I even leave the mother-country before I get the royal treatment?" Jack lamented as another ship was spotted on the horizon. He sullenly passed the brass looking-scope over to Will, who immediately trained it on the looming ship. A Naval cutter – that's what Jack was complaining about. It seemed there was going to be trouble before Jack even got out of British waters.

"Don't you lay aboard, you mangy mongrels. Don't you even try it…" Jack growled, willing the cutter not to fall alongside of his ship, a common war tactic used by the navy to board an enemy vessel. He turned from gazing out to sea and addressed the apprehensive crew. "Who here doesn't know what a lavatory is?" Jack asked resignedly, as the naval cutter drew parallel with his precious ship. About half the crew, being as uncivilised and uneducated as they were, raised their hands warily. Will wondered what the pirate was up to now. "Right; you lot below deck and don't show your uncouth and improper faces until after the bloody military have gone home to their mothers. Dawkins, that means you. You haven't had a shower since King Edward walked this earth." Will laughed at Jack's ingenious way of determining whether a man looked respectable enough not to be questioned by a British Royal Officer.

"Avast!" Came the cry from the opposing ship.

"Here we go again." Muttered Jack to Will. "I know this speech by the book… Who goes there?" Jack called out monotonously.

"Admiral of _Virginia_, and commander of this ship." The young man yelled back. Jack merely waited until the ship drew level with him. Jack surveyed him carefully, cocking his head slightly to the side and squinting his kohl-smudged eyes. A small frown creased over his tanned forehead as he took in the officer's royal-blue coat – a colour forbidden to commoners by Queen Elizabeth's Sumptuary Laws and reserved for upper-class citizens.

Pirates - especially successful pirates - loved to flout these laws and dress in royal reds, purples and blues, purely to annoy the rest of the upper-class citizens who considered themselves above such middle-class society. But the pirates were never caught, as questioning another noble's heritage (as shaky as it be) was one of the most impolite and disrespectful crimes to commit. If one tried to prove that a pirate was in fact, a pirate and undeserving of such luxury, and the accusation was unfounded, the questioning noble could find himself stripped of his power and titles and forced to don commoner's apparel. Therefore, any suspicions were whispered and shared over the table, and pirate's integrity was never openly challenged.

Captains were notorious for dressing in opulence on a regular voyage, as they didn't have to worry about dirtying or ripping their fine silks on the ship's dangerous riggings. Jack, however, was an exception rather than a rule, choosing to dress in standard crew slops including his canvas doublet shirt, vest, simple trousers and ordinary leather bucket boots. The only articles that set him apart from the rest of his crew were his tricorn hat, red banana and gold trinkets winking in his hair and beard. And of course, failing that, his whole bearing and demeanour screamed; _Pirate Captain_.

"Good _Admiral_." Jack said, stressing the word and stiffly bowing in a mocking way, sweeping his captain's hat off his head to finish his elaborate display of submissiveness. Will noted the Jack didn't place his tricorn hat back on his head after he straightened up. Instead Jack held it slightly but subtly behind him as he resumed addressing the doubtful Admiral. "A bit young to be Admiral of this fine vessel, nay?" Jack inquired with false inquisitiveness. Will thought Jack was going to get himself prematurely shot, but the young man merely turned a bright pink colour, that flushed noticeably even under his sunburn.

"How dare you doubt a man of my integrity and standing!" The man challenged, but his heart wasn't in it.

"I'd like to believe you lad, but your stripes tell me otherwise." Jack remarked, pointing the hilt of his pistol at the young Admiral's sleeve, where his rank was depicted by a series of stripes and bars. "Rear Admiral. Very impressive." Jack noted sarcastically. The disgraced Rear Admiral looked slightly taken aback, until he realised Jack's pistol wasn't pointing at him. After realising he was in no immediate danger of being shot, he curled his lip, turned on his heel and disappeared into the cabins without so much as a word to Sparrow or his crew.

"Well done Captain." Congratulated McGaggen from the deck.

"Mind your Holystone and keep scrubbing the decks." Jack growled. "I have a feeling that we'll be working our way up through the ranks before we can depart from the navy's esteemed company." Sure enough, no sooner had the words left Jack's mouth than the Captain's door burst open and a short, wiry man strode out.

"Rawlish has just informed me that you scurvy scallywags have threatened him and the command of this royal vessel."

"Good day to you too, sir." Will voiced sarcastically. Jack shoved him roughly in the ribs to shut him up before they both got themselves prematurely shot. Not that it hadn't happened to Jack before, but in his opinion, every shot fired at you was a shot fired too early.

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**So next chapter: what happens to Jack and Will? Do they get themselves shot for impertinence? Can Jack talk his way out of this one? And where's Alex gone of too?**

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**Thanks to DCoD, Kara Adar, Lonaargh, The GothyFaery and of course, Pebbles1234, whose reviews motivate me to write more and often. **

**DCoD – Thank-you :) The 'darker' side of this story was difficult to write, because I was afraid it wouldn't flow with the rest of the story, so thanks for reassuring me! **

**Kara Adar – I'm glad you like the 'darker' style. The next few chapters will be a bit lighter and more humorous, but I might put some darker undertones through it. **

**Lonaargh – The Drifting Maiden is definitely a ship you don't want to cross in a dark alley ;) **

**The GothyFaery – I really want the Drifting Maiden's figurehead too! (Apart from the fact it's pure evil) Hell, I want to whole ship! **

**Pebbles1234 – One day I'd like to be an author. When stories are printed and bound in a book, it seems so final, so permanent. In 100 years time, people can still pick up a book and read it; that's the beauty of it. Wow, it sounds like I'm a salesperson; 'Buy a book today!" (I'm a big fan of reading, for those who can't tell.) **


	10. Buccaneers and Privateers

**Ah, yes, where were we? Jack's about to be boarded and/or shot by the Navy, unless he can charm his way out of it. Fortunately, 'charisma' is Jack's second-middle name. **

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"Permit me to inquire, good sir, how and when we have displayed threatening behaviour?" Jack asked indulgently, bowing low to the Admiral and tossing his pistol behind him, for a very stunned Will to catch. In surprise, Will almost dropped the pistol and grappled to get a hold of it. His finger gripped the trigger and in a puff of smoke, a small hole was blown into the deck.

"Oops." Will muttered, still cringing from the unexpected noise. Jack straightened up from his deep bow and rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to mutter something slightly stronger than 'oops'.

"What sort of idiot misses a throw like that?" Jack hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

"What sort of idiot throws a loaded pistol with the safety off?" Will hissed back.

"I believe that there fire-arm may be the one in question." The Admiral replied, a small arrogant smile appearing beneath his white beard. He thought he had them cornered like mice. _How wrong you are, old man. _

Jack merely grimaced and bowed again, unfazed.

"Right you are. If you'll permit me to speak to your commanding Admiral, I'll explain everything." The Admiral spluttered and turned a shade of angry red.

"You truly are an incompetent fool, sir. I am the highest ranking Admiral on board." He spluttered indignantly.

"That can't be." Jack exclaimed in mock-embarrassment and horror, "I was talking to _the_ Admiral only seconds ago. A young lad – just a boy really - seemed very young for such a rank as that, but carried authority well. Must be the Navy's wonder-child. He told me himself that he was the commanding captain of this fine vessel." Jack said, playing up his role as dim-witted sailor. The Admiral turned a shade of purple. "Rawlish!" He bellowed. The weedy and severely sunburnt Rear Admiral that had stormed off deck moments before appeared sheepishly. "Impersonating an officer of higher rank! You could hang for that, my son. Unfortunately, we're with company, so I'll deal with you later." The Admiral muttered something further about cat-o-nines, before turning his back on the unfortunate low-ranking Admiral.

"It appears I under-estimated you," he addressed Jack, with a note of joviality that barely suppressed his suspicion towards the pirate captain. "You are craftier than what I initially gave you credit for." Jack merely bowed again in recognition of the praise. "So crafty," the Admiral continued in conversational tones, "that you could well be the pirate I first assumed you were." Jack hurriedly drew up from his bow and widened his eyes in a display of innocence. His brown eyes - made so much larger by the dark kohl lining - clearly said, _who, me? _The Admiral, however, continued on with his inquisition.

"I'll ask you this once; are you an enemy of Her Majesty?"

"Nay!" Jack exclaimed, looking outraged. "Who could hate Elizabeth, a true Queen amongst, well, Kings." The Admiral frowned, but continued on with his naval protocol.

"Be you a merchant ship then?"

"Nay." Replied Jack. The amount of gun's his ship held showed he was not a simple merchant runner, or if he was, he was shipping something very valuable. If he admitted to trading, they would ask for his trade license and search the ship for the cargo. The only thing Jack had in abundance was gun-powder and rum.

"A pirate ship?" the Admiral continued, humouring them.

"Nay sir." Jack exclaimed vehemently. "Why, pirates stole the only love of my life away. I have sworn eternal revenge on the devil's souls, God rest her own."

"Ah… so before me stands a model of pure recklessness and impertinence, if I ever laid eyes on one. Hunting down pirate ships for revenge." The Admiral shook his head.

_Damn the Doldrums for the day they ever let this old fool become Admiral,_ Jack thought, sensing the Admiral was not going to merely wave them off on their merry way. No, the Admiral was toying with them like a cat does a cornered mouse.

"Mayhaps yoube pirates yourselves?" The Admiral asked, with his snow-white eyebrow raised in amusement.

"Sir", Jack said in mock outrage, "We are gentlemen -"

"- Of fortune –" he added under his breath.

"Then what be your profession or purpose?" The Admiral interrupted. "Do you serve the Queen and this country?" He barked impatiently, obviously not buying into Jack's act without solid evidence.

"Sir, we capture enemies of England to be sure. The French, the Dutch, the Spanish. But we also capture enemies of England herself that be English. Pirates and suchlike." Jack explained, waving his ringed hands expressively.

"So you are privateers?" The Admiral suggested, sounding slightly more believing of Jack's story.

"That's the word." Jack said epiphanically. He muttered under his breath, "Always get it confused with 'buccaneers'. Not a good thing to admit to."

The Admiral merely raised an eyebrow. He clearly thought Jack was a raving lunatic, or extremely drunk. Possibly both. Jack's entire crew, including Jack himself, held their breath for the Admiral's final judgement. The pirates stopped their work entirely, abandoning all pretence of labour to eavesdrop properly.

"Forgive me, _gentlemen_, but I simply cannot accept your story." The Admiral finished finally. "Now, if you were to provide me with Act of Grace from Her Majesty, allowing you to practice privateering, that would ease my suspicion greatly." He finished mockingly. Jack patted his coat down with great gusto.

"Would you believe," Jack began, straightening up sheepishly, "I left it on my other ship?"

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**I think I invented a new word: '**epiphanically' – **meaning something along the lines of** 'a statement made in epiphany' **(In Jack's case, to suddenly comprehend a concept that previously eluded him). Anyway, you get the idea of what I'm - very inarticulately - trying to say.**

**So, next chapter: can the cantankerous old Admiral swallow Jack's codswallop? (It sounds like it should be a newspaper headline) If he doesn't, what shall be the punishment for Jack and Co? The more reviews, the nicer I may make the punishment. At the moment they're staring down the barrel of an all-out sea battle, which would not be a viable option for the Black Pearl, whose built for speed, not combat. **

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**Lonnargh – I love that mental image of the Rear Admiral being stomped into the ground by Jack. I can see him, jumping up and down spitefully on the partially-buried Admiral's head, Jack's hair and trinkets flying every which way. 'Obnoxious little worm…' **

**Pebbles1234 – Jack is tutoring Will in a way. Will has pirate blood in him, and Jack feels as if he owes it to Bootstrap to teach his only son the art of pirating. Well, that's the vibe I got from the movie. **

**The GothyFaery: I update between 5pm-8pm Australian time, if that helps you any :)**

**Thanks again to all my loyal, loyal reviewers who review faithfully every update, and whom I hold in high esteem. You guys don't know how much those reviews mean to me. **

**Oh, yes, fixing up an error someone brought to me attention: my sincerest apologies to Shadowicewolf; I replied to your review from chapter 6 (I think I put the reply in chapter 7). The correction is, it was meant to read, "_It's quality that counts, not quantity_." Arg – I hate making typos! I am really, really sorry if I confused you. If anyone spots any errors, can they _please_ tell me! I'd prefer to be told, rather than have it slip by unchecked for ages. **


	11. Where's North?

**Woo-hoo; long chapter! I have almost 50 reviews! -Speechless- **

**Some minor swearing in this chapter, but I've already rated the story accordingly, so no real surprises there. So, picking up where we left off; is the Admiral going to buy Jack's story? **

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"Board, men - this vessel and its crew are believed to have partaken in the hang-able act of piracy." The Admiral bellowed. Will looked stricken, but Jack merely rolled his eyes in annoyance and disgust. But the navy crew remained where they were, staring and gaping at an object behind Jack and Will. Both men turned around slowly and cautiously on their heels. Behind them stood the most striking woman Will had ever seen, and one of the most stunning women Jack had ever laid eyes on. Dressed in a pale-blue dress with a white belt cinched at the waist and a cream-parasol shading her from the sun, Will was drawing a blank at who this person was. So was Jack.

"Who are you?" Jack asked the woman incredulously. The woman merely winked at Will and waved her hand-held fan next to her pretty face. It was then Will recognised Alex's blue eyes and cheeky grin.

"Alex?" Will asked disbelievingly.

"Where?" Asked Jack, spinning around in a vain search for Alex. "Haven't seen the blasted pain ever since we meet this cursed – "

"Excuse me gentlemen, but what seems to be the problem?" Alex inquired in a cultured voice, so completely unlike her usual rough brogue. The Admiral made a supreme effort to look unruffled and unconcerned.

"Perhaps you can inform us of the purpose of this vessel, as I can't get a straight answer out of anybody." The wiry man scowled.

"Certainly," beamed Alex. Will scowled at any of the naval officers that beamed back at her. "Sorry to cause you any inconvenience with this mistake," she apologised. The crew looked like they'd forgive Alex for murdering their only son, "You see, I'm off to Africa to marry my Spanish fiancé." (Here the Navy crew's faces dropped slightly) "I was worried about pirates, so I – I mean, my fiancé –enlisted the help of these fine gentlemen here, and requested the crew to keep the purpose of this voyage under wraps. They are under orders not to reveal the true purpose of this crossing and were sworn to secrecy. I - I mean - my fiancé wanted to avoid as much attention as possible. Naturally, this order extended to the sea, and they weren't permitted to answer any questions posed by any other vessels. Of course, I should have reminded them to alert the Royal Navy of the real story, but it must have slipped my mind. I have so much to worry about at the moment, with the wedding and all. I'm terribly sorry to have caused such an inconvenience." Alex apologised, sounding incredibly sincere and remorseful. She looked up at the navy crew from under lower eyelashes. If her speech hadn't done the trick, that look certainly had.

"Err, no trouble at all." The Admiral replied bashfully. "Perfectly understandable, given the circumstances… Should be me apologising…How can I make it up to you?"

"Nonsense, don't trouble yourself -" Alex began, but before she could finish her sentence, the Rear Admiral cried out, "We'll take you to Africa! No ship on the seven seas would dare tangle with the _Virginia." _The Admiral shut the disgraced lad up with a mere glance. Alex looked horrified at the prospect of spending several long weeks at sea with the Rear Admiral.

"That really is a very gracious offer, but I'm afraid I must decline." She excused herself hurriedly. "I have packed everything I need below deck on this ship, and to get it all out would take up too much of your precious time." The Admiral looked as if he were to argue. "Besides," Alex continued hurriedly, "Battle-ships and wars scare me greatly. And I trust this crew with my life. I'm terribly sorry gentlemen, but I wouldn't dream of burdening you any further. And my fiancé did wish for me to travel… incognito, I believe the Spanish word is."

"Well, if we can't persuade you further…" The Admiral said, looking terribly put-out.

"Sir, if you'll permit me to voice my opinion," another voice began. Will saw Alex roll her eyes and shoot him a look that said, w_ill they never leave me alone? _

"Certainly, Vice Admiral Stone." The Admiral beamed. Obviously the Vice Admiral was a favourite of the Admiral. With the Vice's dark Welsh looks and curly chocolate hair, he was obviously a favourite with the ladies too. Alex didn't look too impressed though, but hid her lower-face behind her fan. He spoke with a faint accent as he continued on.

"This lady is off on a very trying journey. Seeing as she wishes to continue her voyage with this… rabble," (here he glanced over at Jack and Will) "perhaps she could be persuaded to join us for dinner and light entertainment after. That is, if the Lady feels up to dancing?" The Vice Admiral was obviously used to charming his way around ladies, but Alex merely flashed a weak smile at him.

"Mr Stone, I have told you before, I will trust my life to this crew. Speaking no ill of the Royal Navy, but blue blood bleeds as freely as any other. Upper-class status does not automatically make you invincible to the perils of the ocean. Just because you can trace your ancestry back to King Louie doesn't ensure courage or bravery. I trust this crew with my life, regardless of their parentage and social influence." Vice Admiral Stone looked shocked. Not only had a pretty lady declined his offered; she had openly humiliated him. "Unfortunately, Mr Stone, I regret to inform you that I –"

"Can attend the dinner." Jack cut in. Alex spun around and glared at Jack in shock and fury. Her look clearly said, _what the hell are you doing? _"The lady will gladly attend your dinner, and dance graciously there-aft'wards, I am sure." Jack replied, bowing low to the Admiral.

"Splendid!" Exclaimed the Admiral.

"On one condition." Alex hurriedly added, and without waiting for permission to continue, persisted. "The good Captain accompanies me. Not that I don't trust you gentlemen, but I would feel safer if I knew a familiar face." Jack looked astounded.

"You know I can't stand the uptight bastards." He hissed at Alex.

"Neither can I, you arrogant arse. Why did you do that for? I can answer for myself sufficiently well, thank-you." Alex murmured back from behind her fan. The Admiral answered Alex's question, oblivious to her and Jack's whispered argument.

"Certainly, my Lady. The Captain can accompany you by all means." Neither Jack nor the Vice Admiral looked to happy on that agreement. Will merely sniggered at Jack's discomfort. Jack would be forced to be civil to the very people he would love nothing more to do than pump full of lead and cannon-balls.

"Will comes also." Alex added quickly. "You can keep an eye on Jack." She muttered to Will as he stared at her in outrage.

"I can't believe you did that!" All three bellowed at each other as soon as the naval cutter dropped anchor a respectful distance away.

"Did your mother drop you on your head at birth?" Jack lamented to Alex. "You don't say things like that to Lord Jason Stone, nephew to the Queen!"

"I can say whatever I like to whomever I want." Alex shot back.

"I saved you hide back there, lass. Tis mutiny against the Navy and the Crown to say what you did." Jack replied softly, trying to make her see reason.

"Regardless, we're even. I saved your hide from the Admiral's cat-o-nine tails." Alex argued stubbornly, crossing her arms in annoyance.

"'S nothing I can't charm my way out of." Sparrow replied, equally as stubborn.

"From the navy's prison cell." She snapped back.

Jack's mind raced furiously as he attempted to find a retort to match Alex's. "I can't stand her!" Jack exclaimed, throwing his hands up in annoyance. "Blast whoever taught the lass to speak her mind!" He strode into his quarters and slammed the door. Will watched Jack's gracious retreat pensively.

"Why do I have to watch him?" He finally asked, his dark eyes beseeching.

"Because he's going to get himself raving drunk on the rum he's hidden in his cabin and get us hanged if you don't keep an eye on him." Alex rolled her eyes. "And if I have to suffer so does he. I'd rather do a whole week of the midnight dog-watch than spend one evening on a naval ship."

"Couldn't you look after him? Then at least you'd have something to do." Will asked resignedly, still trying to get out of a boring night with the pompous navy officers.

"No, I'll be busy trying not to strangle every officer on the ship." Alex replied, gritting her teeth and clenching her fists.

To try to calm her nerves, she petted the black cat that had lithely jumped up unto the ship's railings. It had followed Alex and the new crew aboard from the docks on their first day, and it could often be found lying draped around Alex's shoulders or sleeping in her cabin. Despite Gibb's muttering that it was '_frightfully bad luck to bring a black cat aboard'_ (everything was bad luck to Gibbs, unless it had the potential to get him drunk). Jack allowed her to keep it, and as a joke Alex name the cat 'North.' It amused Alex to call down from the Crow's Nest "Where's North?" when things got a bit boring, and all too often Jack and Will heard unsuspecting sailors crying out, "Alex wants to know where North is? Can anyone find North! We've bloody-well gone and lost North."

"If you didn't want to go, why did you pack a dress in the first place?" Will questioned, intrigued.

"I thought it would get me out of trouble, which it did, but only landed me in deeper trouble. You'd think I'd learn my lesson the first time…" She grumbled, tugging at her belt and scowling in a most un-lady-like manner. "I have half a mind to burn it right now... Still, I must be off to make myself presentable for this notable company." Alex finished sarcastically, also striding into her quarters and slamming the door in annoyance.

"Stop slamming doors on my ship!" Came Jack's muffled voice from his cabin, where he was undoubtedly sulking, drinking, or both. "Bloody smart-arse," he muttered as he threw himself heavily into an easy chair.

"Bloody smart arse," Alex muttered as she threw her dress to the floor in contempt, stomped on it a couple of times for good measure, and then flopped heavily onto her bed.

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**Next chapter: the Navy ball. Who'll insult the navy first? Who'll find the Navy's rum supply first? And watch-out for one barely-mentioned character; they'll turn up in a very unexpected place a few chapters down the track. Actually, two of them will. And it was really weird to try to make Alex seem attractive; I never really factored that into the equation when I was inventing her character. She sort of had enough spunk and personality that she didn't need anything else. But it seemed the only way to get the Navy to stop attacking the Black Pearl was to have an 'innocent, meek, fragile 'women aboard it, and lo and behold; Alex was already there. Alex doesn't do innocent, meek or fragile very well, however. **

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**DCoD – And so Alex returns, and it could be argued she saved Jack from his sticky situation (only to land him in one he believes is much, much worse – dancing. At a ball. With the Navy.) Now that I know that people don't hate that I've included an 'other character' into the story, Alex might play a bigger part. Jack and Will certainly make enough trouble for themselves to need someone to bail them out of their dilemma's :) **

**Kara Adar – Well, I think it's sufficed to say the Admiral did not believe Jack's story. Poor Jack… Mind you, if I were the Admiral, I wouldn't believe Jack either :)**

**Hippolytos – Thank-you (for both reviews)! I'm glad you think Jack and Will are in character – I don't have access to the POTC movie, so I have to work off my memory to remember how they speak and act. But they're definitely unforgettable characters (especially Jack) so it's not too hard to imagine how they'd react to the situations I place them in. Glad you like it. **

**Pebbles1234 – Yes, what will Jack do with Will? It's a good thing Jack's a patient man. Will's sort of like Watson in his early days; Watson tries to make accurate assumptions and deductions like Holmes, but nine times out of ten he gets it wrong. But Will tries. His heart's in the right place, and he's a smart lad, so I think that's all that matters to Jack, because they're the two things you can't teach someone. Will'll get better at the whole pirating business soon. **

**Thank-you to my steadfast reviewers (I'm trying to use words other than 'loyal') both new and old. Also thank-you to my mystery readers out there – I know you're there because I read my story stats occasionally - _I see you, poppet_ ;) Thanks all! **

**Does anyone know how to stop the spaces appearing between each line of dialogue? It looks messy and it's difficult to read. And why do some words 'stick together' - especially after I've used commas? **


	12. Preparations

**Come on guys – I'm one review off 50! Don't leave me hanging like this!On the 50th review, I'm gunna…uh…I dunno…do something special…watch POTC in celebration mayhaps…or eat chocolate…or write some more of the story; I want to add Anamaria into the story along the track somewhere…okay, I dunno what I'm going to do in celebration, but it'll be BIG!...Probably…maybe… Ah, so where were we: the Naval Ball. **

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At six pm, just as the sun was setting over the serene water, several low ranking officers rowed a small jolly boat over to _The Black Pearl_.

"Alex! They're here!" Bellowed Will, tugging at his shirt and breeches. He had borrowed a toffee brown shirt with slightly puffy sleeves and lace on the sleeve hems that brought out the colour of his dark eyes. He also wore black breeches and a tan-coloured doublet coat with stitching finely embroided on the collar and hems. He had purposely chosen plainer coloured clothes instead of the bright and eye-catching garments pirates often chose to wear for formal occasions. Will did this not because he was afraid of being punished by the navy for flouting the clothing restrictions, but because he didn't wish to appear as arrogant as the naval officers would no doubt be – dressed in their rich blues and reds, sporting their ridiculous decorations, their tassels and plumes.

Despite Will's choosing of unexciting clothing from Jack's store in his second cabin, with his dark soulful eyes, tanned skin and curling brown hair, he would no doubt be attracting the ladies all night. Which had been another incentive for him to choose his inconspicuous attire – he didn't wish to unintentionally break any girl's heart. Because, as Jack once told him, every girl a pirate unintentionally ignored or let down was almost always a governor's daughter. Again Will tugged impatiently at his clothes out of nerves. At least his clothing, being tailored as it was, would be comfortable enough to help him bear out the evening. The clothes themselves looked like they were tailored specifically for him, and had probably never been worn in their previous life.

Any pirate had access to Jack's clothing supply – it was booty from their plundering, but as yet none had come forth to claim any, except on special occasions. Jack had the wardrobe under key, purely so when his crew became drunk they didn't decide to play dress-ups and spoil the expensive clothing. There were sari's from India - in their magnificent Arabian desert colours, dark silken shirts and kimono's from Asia – in shifting hues of deep blues and greens, light Egyptian cotton – a pleasure to wear in any tropical climate and typical English clothing, dating back from the Edwardian, Victorian and Elizabethan era's.

Will felt like such a pompous idiot, and half expected that when he opened his mouth, a snobby, upper-class inflicted accent would have resounded around the deck. He quickly swung downstairs into the bowels of the ships, where all the other crew members were singing raucous Abel Browns. Will was getting tired of the vulgar sea songs, although admittedly there were some down-right funny, sweet and occasionally poignant love songs around, but the pirates usually sung them after they had left port and their loved (in some cases) ones behind, and gone into the depressing throes and various stages of drunkenness.

Tonight, Jack was giving the crew the night off in pure disgust. While other Captains may have punished their crew for their own misfortune, Jack decided if there was no work to be done, why waste their time? Better that they get wasted on their own accord. As Will made his way into the smoky, dim hold, he found what he was searching for - Jack, sitting morosely at a table in the corner, contemplating a pewter tankard of some alcoholic substance.

"They'll be plenty of time for that later." Will muttered, wrenching the ale from Jack's grip and plonking it down on the rickety table to his left, where it was swiftly skulled down in one gulp by Jimbilly Jackson, a freed slave who carried the title of Quartermaster - who from years of being beaten and made feel to inferior - felt the position was too high for him and deferred the rank back onto Jack. He did this possibly out of respect for his Captain also. Jack hoped that soon the hearty and fair sailor would learn that he deserved his title, and claim it back.

"I wasn't going to drink any." Jack said in an exasperated voice, and Will could detect no trace of alcohol on his breath, nor slur in his voice. Jack had just been sulking in the hold, hoping they'd leave without him. Sure enough, Jack trudged up to the deck soberly, if not a little too slowly and sourly. They emerged onto the main deck – Jack scuffing and dragging his booted feet – to see the navy men had boarded the ship and were leaning nonchalantly again the rail, waiting.

"Fancy seeing you here." Jack exclaimed to them sarcastically, stalking over to the side of the ship and lowering himself down into the jollyboat. Will hoped the navy had brought over two jolly boats – Jack didn't sound in very good spirits with Alex at the moment. There was a slight splashing noise followed by several loud curses; the jolly boat had moved away from its mooring and Jack had been splashed with cold salty water. No doubt he was incensed that his clothes would be damp. Will had noticed the he had deliberately chosen the most extravagant clothing on board the ship to spite the navy – he dressed as richly as a king (albeit without the crown) and would definitely be the most well-dressed man aboard. Of course, Jack could have been dressed in rags and still been one of the most attractive men in the room – his cocky demeanour and soulful eyes drew ladies in like moths to a flame.

Will had caught a glimpse of a creamy white open chested shirt in the same style as Will's, only with elaborate gold stitching and buttons, coupled with dark blue trousers, a velvet black doublet cloak with an upturned collar and similar gold stitching down the seams. True to his pirate self, however, Will had noted Jack carried still carried his silver pistol, compass and cutlass on his waist, only this time they were covered by a dark maroon silk baldric sash that doubled as a belt. Will had also seen several golden rings glint on his fingers and a hoop swing from his ear before Jack disappeared overboard. For someone who despised socialising with the navy, Jack had certainly put a lot of effort into his appearance.

"Alex! Waiting!" Will yelled.

"Take your time!" Jack hollered up to her from the jolly boat. "I'm in no hurry!"

"Just let me try to do something with this accursed bloody hair of mine!" Came the muffled response from the second cabin, which Jack had considerately transformed into Alex's sleeping quarters. "Stubborn ratbag excuse for hair." Came the dark mutters. Still smirking to himself, Will turned to address the impatiently waiting naval officers, but he was shocked by their appearance. They stared openly in what appeared to be pure horror – their eyes went wide and their mouths dropped. Will thought perhaps they had smelled Salasen the cook, but he turned around anyway.

**

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And what did he see? Give me that 50th review and maybe I'll tell you! I'm so dastardly…I revel in my dastardliness… If anyone thinks the chapters are becoming a bit too boring and dull, please let me know and I'll try to spice it up. The next chapter will be better, I promise. Also, as a word of warning, the story is quite long – at least 30 chapters, and I'd wager a great deal more than that. I hope everyone's okay with that.**

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**Jacquelyn Sparrow – be sure to tell me when you post the story, and I'll check it out :)**

**Kara Adar – the answers to all (okay, most) of your questions will be in the next chapter. **

**The GothyFaery – Thanks for telling me how to fix the formatting. Unfortunately anything vaguely resembling html codes with their little arrow things scare me greatly, so if nobody objects, I'll just keep the layout how it is. At the end of this year, I am so buying myself a black cat with green eyes and calling it 'North.' All my neighbours will think I'm mentally unhinged when I'm walking around banging a cat-food tin, peering under bushesbellowing, "North! Where are you?" **

**Pebbles1234 – I feel so privileged! Thank-you!**

**Remember, just one more review and I'll update again today…mwhahaha**


	13. A Meeting with Davy Jones

**_Arrg – I said I'd update twice in a day, and my internet's not letting me! In truth, I think FanFiction may be on the blink, but when all else fails, blame the lap-top. I'm soooo sorry! _**

**You all have hippolytos to thank for this chapter – you were the 50th reviewer! And you're prize is – 2 chapters in one day (I do think I'm spoiling you all - jks) I do sort of owe it to you all, as my last chapter had very little action. And so continuing on: just who has Will seen (yes, hippolytos – she has clothes on - That review made me laugh out loud; it was so…accusatory) **

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Standing in the moonlight, looking rather unsure of herself, was Alex. Despite her dark mutters about her hair, Will could find nothing wrong with it. He was also sure if he asked any of the navy officers, they'd find no fault either. In fact, Will could find no fault with her at all.

Alex's hair had been pinned up, with several tresses falling down and framing her face. The rest were tied back into a sort of chignon, but with several of the locks also escaping and trailing down, highlighting her long neck. Pearl drop earring also hung from her earlobes and around her neck sat a detailed silver necklace with pearls swaying from it.

The dress itself was something else. Moonlight silver in colour, it was edged with silver and onyx threads and tear-shaped pearls, both black and translucent white. (Pearls to remind all she belonged to the 'Black Pearl'?) In the sunlight Alex's hair usually appeared a bright blonde, and her skin glowed almost golden. But whether it was due to the darker night, or the shade of her dress, her skin appeared porcelain, and her hair ash-blonde. Her paler face highlighted her darkened lashes, and in the moonlight her blue eyes shone an almost blue-black. Standing near the shadows, she appeared almost ethereal. It was no wonder the navy sailors had been acting like they'd seen a ghost.

Embarrassed by the long stares, Alex quickly strode over to the railing, slid over the rail and made to climb down the side of the ship on the Jacob's ladder.

"Let me help you, Miss." Eagerly exclaimed every sailor, but Alex just gripped the rope tighter.

"I think I can manage it myself." She stated sarcastically, but Will noted her averted eyes. She was plainly out of her element, and clearly just wished to disappear.

"Watch it!" Jack called up to her as she no doubt stood on his hand or something equally as painful.

"Shut up." Alex said simply, and surprisingly, Jack did so. Will thought that other factors may have influenced his prolonged silence, and sure enough, seconds later there was a,

_Slap!_

"Why did you go and do that, luv?" Came Jack's indignant voice.

"I can find the bloody boat bloody well enough on my own, thank-you Mister Sparrow, without your hands to 'guide' me. Do anything like that again and you won't be on the receiving end of a mere light slap." Came Alex's curt voice. Will suppressed a smirk as he pictured Jack trying to 'help' Alex find her seat. There came a dull 'thud' of a fist sinking into Jack's belly and Jack's slightly too-innocent voice.

"What now?"

"Find something else to look at, will you?" Retorted Alex in an annoyed voice. She too did not sound overly joyous with the prospect of spending an entire evening on the naval cutter. Then there came yet another dull smack of a fist connecting solidly to flesh.

"Will you stop doing that!" Came Jack's voice. "Why don't you slap like every other girl?"

"That one was an accident." Came Alex's voice, sounding contrite. Even though he couldn't see her face, Will was sure there was a satisfied smile on it.

"Perhaps we should just stay here and leave them to it?" One of the officers asked Will jokingly. Will could see some of the men were seriously contemplating the idea.

"If you lot don't come down here, I'll damned well crawl back up and heave you off the side and make you swim to the cursed navy ship!" Came Alex's annoyed call.

Several minutes later they pushed off from the Black Pearl. Several of the officers sported black eyes and bruises from where they had inadvertently crushed either Alex or Jack, and one younger lad had been knocked unconscious when Alex had 'accidentally' shoved him against the side of the Black Pearl when the lad had 'inadvertently' tripped into Alex. Even Will thought he had a bruise on his upper-arm when Alex had slugged him one. "Is that you Will?" She had whispered, "Whoops, sorry." And then she and Jack had continued accidentally-on-purpose disposing of as many officers as they could.

"It's not too late." Jack hissed to Will in a conspirital whisper as they glided across the calm waters to the navy's vessel. "We could still heave-ho the old jolly boat and swim for it." Will was seriously contemplating the idea. He looked over the dark waters and behind him saw the golden glow of the Black Pearl's cabin lights beckoning them back. Will and Jack were acutely aware of the drunken roars of raucous laughter that carried over the water and taunted them. Will was giving the jolly boat a cursory glance over to see if anyone was paying him any attention. If they weren't, he was going to rock the boat. Quite literally.

But no, the navy officers were still too busy gaping at Alex. As Will's eyes swept over Alex's serene figure looking resolutely over the prow and towards the looming naval cutter – uptight and tense but trying desperately to act aloof and removed – Will decided he couldn't do it. Alex wanted just as badly to escape as from this form of hell as they did. They couldn't just cut and leave her high and dry, especially when she'd put so much effort into at least looking the part. Will also told himself that Alex would surely sink in her heavy dress and skirts if the boat was over-turned, but for some strange reason Will also had to admit to himself he didn't like the idea leaving her floundering in the middle of the ocean, or shivering on board the navy decks with her make-up streaked and dress ruined, surrounded by dozens of Admirals and sailors. Still, she would be safe with the navy men. No doubt they'd be falling over each other to get her drinks and all that. Nevertheless, Will had a nagging thought in the back of his mind that abandoning Alex like this was a form of mutiny.

"So, your verdict?" Jack whispered keenly. He was already half off his seat in anticipation. Will gave a barely imperceptible nod, then they both inconspicuously grabbed the edge of the boat. They leaned back, and just as they were about to heave forward violently, Will stopped dead. "Shark!" He hissed, grabbing Jack by his collar and heaving him back bodily into the centre of the boat. Sure enough, attracted by the food waste from the naval ship, a lone grey fin was cutting though the water, passing around the boat, finding it uninteresting and angling back towards the ship, slicing through the black waves like a knife through butter.

"Thwarted again." Jack muttered as he slumped down in his seat. All sat in stony silence until the fin disappeared around the back of the navy's pride and joy, _the Virginia. _

"Fear not M'Lady!" A gallant officer proclaimed once the shark could no longer been seen. "I've got a necklace of shark teeth I've collected over the years. I'd fight that shark to Davy Jones Locker and back again." He boasted.

"Really?" Exclaimed Alex in a falsely bright voice. The young man jumped to his feet and grabbed at the necklace he wore at his neck under his uniform, eagre to show off his trophies to Alex. No one else in the boat saw it, except perhaps Will and Jack, but as the boy moved over to Alex, she shifted her feet slightly. Will saw the look of horror on the officer's face as he tripped, stumbled and dove overboard.

"Shark!" He screamed hysterically, his unruffled composure completely disintegrating as he faced sharing the waters with a man-eating shark. "There's a shark in the water. Oh, God! Get me out!" He shrieked, flailing his arms and splashing loudly, gulping down several gallons of seawater. The rest of the crew fished him out, sniggering as they hauled him over the side like a limp rag.

"So how goes old Davy Jones?" Alex asked innocently.

Alas, it was all to no avail when they climbed up the Jacob's Ladder and onto the naval cutter _Virginia's_ decks to be greeted by the well scrubbed planks. And also a great deal more. They were flanked by several higher officers and given a guard of honour. Both Jack and Will were shocked with the formality of the occasion. Not only were they greeted outside on the ship's deck, they were treated like they were some sort of royalty.

"Hang the Virgins." Jack murmured to Will, before kissing the podgy hand of an extremely well-fed lady. Will turned to say something to Alex, but she was already swallowed up by a swarm of Admirals and other nobility on the ship. Will saw her meet his eyes and plead for him to create some sort of diversion so she could escape, but Will needed escaping of his own sort. Both he and Jack were being penned-in by droves of ladies, young and old, haughty and horsy, plump and primped. _It's going to be a long night, _thought Jack.

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**Next chapter will be the full juicy story of what actions who partook at the ball. I'm sorry, I know I promised the details of the ball about two chapters ago, but my biggest fault is it takes me ages to set the scene. At least in this chapter they got to the ball, it just hasn't started yet. But I assure you, next chapter is definitely entirely devoted to the ball, and I'll reveal a teaser now: someone gets drunk, someone makes a very powerful enemy without realising it, someone falls blindly into love, and someone gets severely disappointed all those things didn't happen to them. Everything except the first thing and the last thing is - believe it or not - crucial to the entire plot of the story. **


	14. Drinks and Dances

**Alright, here it be; ye olde Naval Ball. This is, in fact, only half of the chapter – it's really long, so I decided to be extremely dastardly and leave you with a cliff-hanger, amplified by the fact I won't be able to update tomorrow. I am so devious sometimes I even scare myself. **

**If you find dialogue boring (I know I do), just cut to about half-way down this chapter. I'm trying to make interesting things happen at the naval ball, but to be frank – it's difficult. There's not much to work with, with the fact upper-class society is so concerned with manners and all, and if Jack, Will or Alex do anything too drastic, they'll be hung, drawn and quartered in the blink of an eye, which would definitely shorten this story's length dramatically:) **

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"Ugh." Alex said as she sat down heavily at the banquet table, her skirts puffing up and billowing out like sails in a wind. Hidden by the lavish table arrangements and decorations, she raised a hand to her head and rubbed it darkly. She dearly wished she could slip her feet out of her tight buckled boots, but that was the epitome of savagery and tempted as she was, she was going for the image of refined lady about to wed, not uneducated street slummer.

"Excuse me Miss; would you care to dance?" Asked an eagre officer of about 70 years of age, with stained teeth and big ears.

"Oh God, not again." Alex muttered. It was then that she saw Will steal by, also intent on becoming speedily invisible.

"My sincerest apologies, my good sir, but I promised this kind gentleman a dance first." Alex said relieved, grabbing Will by his forearm and turning him into an impromptu waltz. Dancing with Will was certainly the lesser of the two evils. Will looked shocked at being roughly handled by a young woman, until he realised who it was. "Dance, fool, or do a dance with the devil." She hissed. Will abruptly twirled her. Alex noted the old officer looking distinctly put out, but he reluctantly moved on.

"Praise the Heavens, he's shoved off." Alex sighed as Will spun her back to him hesitantly. Will knew how to waltz - his mother had taught him when he was a small boy (albeit he was slightly rusty now, after years of not practising) - but he was worried he'd slip up and embarrass Alex, who was dancing a lot more confidently than himself.

"Well, you're considerably more interesting and enjoyable company than my previous partner." Will divulged, finally gaining his voice back. He spoke in an exaggeratedly cultured and snobbish voice, making fun of all the other upper-class-men and women in the room.

"I should hope so." Alex replied in a similar voice, catching on and playing the game with Will. She sourly eyed the women in the room that were giving her an evil eye, envious of the way she had commandeered Will and was waltzing so effortlessly around the room. "Good job with the acting too – even I can't believe you call a pirate ship home. And you can even waltz. I'm impressed."

"Aren't you going to say that I'm by far the best company you've had all night?" Will asked in a falsely petulant voice, also noting the grumpy glances he was gaining from all the hopeful men in the room, annoyed he was monopolising Alex.

"I could say that." Alex replied with a cheeky grin. "But I'd be lying, wouldn't I?"

"What?" Will replied, pretending to be deeply shocked and hurt. "Now who could possibly be as devilishly handsome as me, possess an intellect as sharp as mine, a repertoire as vast as mine and charm and chivalry by the bounds?" He asked playfully. Alex raised an eyebrow and pretended to think. "I'd say… everyone I know and will ever know, bar Big Ears Skinly over there." Will just laughed as they waltzed passed the unfortunate man.

"Now how would you be if I said I found every other girl in this room far more interesting, witty and attractive than you?" Will asked, turning Alex away from a young man that Will thought looked like a bit of a scoundrel. Then again, Will thought every young man in the room looking at Alex seemed to be a scoundrel.

"Why, I'd probably have to burst into tears and sob myself stupid for days on end." Alex replied, grinning.

"Well, I'll just not have to upset you." Will said mock-seriously. "I was never good at telling lies anyway." Alex looked up at him quickly, a small frown on her face and a question mark in her deep blue eyes. Not that she had far to look, being so tall in her heeled boots. She was taller than average regardless, but tonight she towered over some of the older, stockier men.

"Got me." She laughed, rolling her eyes. Will was about to open his mouth to clarify the issue, but Alex suddenly winced and stumbled slightly.

"I think I have danced with every blasted person in this room, three times over." She muttered darkly. "And these boots are the worse form of torture ever invented."

"I wish I could help with that, but I'm a blacksmith, not a cobbler."

"It's not your fault." Alex replied crossly, limping slightly on one foot. "You're not the one that insisted that I attend this damned ball. Speaking of the devil, where is Jack?"

"Terrorising some poor innocent dame no doubt." Will replied sardonically.

"Indeed. Must be a harrowing experience for them both." Alex stated in sarcastic agreement, "Speaking of terrible experiences, am I boring you?" She asked. Will was surprised (_who in their right mind would think of Alex as boring?),_ but recovered.

"Something terrible." He replied, grinning crookedly at her. She grinned crookedly back.

"Good." She replied bluntly. "If I have to suffer these trials of one thousand torturous deaths, so do you."

"Exactly why are you so opposed to this night?"

"You really want to know? You want to get me started?" Alex replied jokingly, until she realised he was serious. She dropped her sophisticated accent and continued on in a lower voice. "Do you really regard this infinite politeness as entertaining? Is it your idea of a good time to speak endless words, meaningless chatter and make small talk, while nothing of importance is said? And then this mindless pacing and twirling…" Alex broke off and Will was surprised. Will had been to a few dances in his time, when he could get time off his apprenticeship, but Alex seemed to be well versed and thoroughly annoyedwith these kinds of events.

"What would interest you?" Will asked. He was fascinatedwith what Alex had to say, because in the several short hours he'd been on the naval cutter, he already knew exactly what she meant. When he had danced with the endless giggling maidens, he could barelypry their names out of them, let alone any kind of meaningful conversation from their rosy lips. They trusted their expressions to belie what their voices would not, but the only communication Will managed to pick up was from their eyes, which seemed to laugh at him.

"What about the thrill of peasant Irish dancing? The meaning of African chant with tribal drums? What satisfaction do you get from endless waltzing and guarded tongues?" Alex lamented. Will looked at her and noticed the spark that was dancing in her eyes and the flush of her cheeks. She then lowered her gaze in embarrassment. "That's probably why women aren't meant to say what they think – so they don't look like fools.

"Fools are the type who enjoy these occasions." Will whispered, but he was doing some serious thinking. The warm reception they got on the naval cutter, similar to that of almost royalty… Will and Jack had dismissed it, assuming that the naval officers were celebrating Alex's up-coming (and non-existent) wedding, but perhaps there was something more than that… like the way she knew all the etiquette and behaviour required at the ball, when Will had no idea how anything worked. Then again, Jack seemed quite at equally at ease amongst this society as with his crew on the Black Pearl, so perhaps it was just Will feeling awkward and out of his element.

"Have you been to many of these before?" He finally questioned.

"Upper-class banquets and dinners?" Alex clarified. "I get dressed up like this all the time - except, unlike tonight - usually when I leave, the men are a bit light-on their valuables; fob-watches, jewelled rings and such-like."She grinned up at him, looking into his deep brown eyes. She glanced away and changed her tack. She continued softly; sadly, "How many little girls did you know that wanted to grow up being a noble lady? How many starving, dirty, peasant girls wished that with every fibre of their being that they owned pretty dresses, attended every ball, had servants and lavish foods, marry some pompous, verbally and emotionally constipated navy lieutenant, live unhappily ever after?"

Will continued waltzing with Alex slowly around the room, silent, while Alex gathered her thoughts and composure. If Will wanted to investigate this matter, he'd have to tread carefully. Alex was stubborn and impetuous, it was true, but she could also be flighty, and the topic of the upper-class seemed to be an open wound of Alex's heart.

Will finally broke the silence, "Alex?"

"Mmm," she replied, her head buried into his velvety-soft shoulder. Some of her hair was tickling his nose - her being nearly as tall as him - and Will resisted the urge to stop talking and just continue breathing in her scent of spices and flowers. He hadn't really wanted the moment to end, especially as it was the first time sincehe had set foot on the naval ship thathe had felt at ease, but he needed to know the real story behind Alex's ship jumping. He had originally thought her a simple thief and pick-pocket, but it seemed she had - at one point or another in her life - been much more than that. She can't have always lived her life on the streets, surely?

"Alex, just before, were you speaking from experience?" He felt Alex stiffen slightly in his arms, and push away from him a little, tipping her head up slightly to meet his eyes.

"I - "

" - Excuse me, but may I have the pleasure of dancing with this charming young lady?" Came the heavily accented voice from a swathe, handsome black-haired version of Adonis. Alex quickly closed her mouth, a flush spreading over her pale cheeks. Will was about to say he bloody well could not, but Alex rolled her eyes and grimaced at Will, then curtsied slightly to the foreign interceptor.

"Gladly." Alex replied quickly, smiling insipidly. It was only later that Will realised Alex was saving him from a very messy scene. Refusing to allow your partner to dance with another requester could develop into a gentleman's duel. Which usually ended in a large bullet hole, a lot of pain and- onoccasion -death. But perhaps it was for another reason? Maybe she was using it as an excuse not to evade his question…

"Vice-Admiral Stone." Vice Admiral Stone introduced himself to Alex in a voice that was noticeably different from what it had been earlier that day. Will strongly suspected he was laying the accent on thick to make himself sound a lot more mysterious and exotic to appeal to the ladies. The Vice smiled widely, one of his teeth glinting in the candle-light. Will noticed in surprise that it was inlaid with a gleaming diamond. The Vice Admiral waited for Alex's reply, but there was none forthcoming.

"And what may I address you as?" He finally put forward.

"Alexandria." Alex replied simply, and Will realised he had never heard her full name before.

Will allowed himself to be led away to dance by a voluptuous red-head. By the end of the night, he'd come to wish she'd lured him off earlier. As soon as Will glanced into her jade eyes the first time, he forgot what he was there for, and wondered why he hadn't noticed her before. Her hair was somehow sleeker than anyone else's in the room, her eyes more brighter, her voice more compelling…

Meanwhile, Captain Jack Sparrow was stumbling around the lower decks, trying desperately to locate any source of alcohol that could possibly be stashed about the ship. He had tried everything, including the apple-barrel, but his labours had – as yet - yielded naught. Jack was sure the captain of the accursed vessel must have some spirits _somewhere_, but the captain's cabin was the only place aboard the miserable floating hell that was locked solidly. That and the food larder, unsurprisingly.

Jack swaggered surreptitiously to the captain's cabin and leaned nonchalantly against the door, turning the knob viciously with his hand held behind his back. When the brass knob refused to yield, Jack pulled a series of wires and picks from his baldric sash and began examining the lock.

"And what may you be doing?" Inquired the irritated voice of what Jack assumed to be the captain. _It certainly sounded arsy enough_, Jack thought. Hurriedly Jack stowed his lock picks up his sleeve and turned sheepishly to face the captain. Excuses flew through his mind. _Keep it simple, Jack,_ he told himself.

"That's not the ladies bathrooms." Jack exclaimed in outrage and shot off to the relative safety of the crowds in the dance room. As Jack merged quickly into the crowd, he came to the regrettable conclusion there was no spirits aboard the accursed vessel. None at all. If there were, Captain Jack Sparrow would have found it.

"Would you care for a drink?" Asked a handsome, tousled-blonde naval officer who wore the ranks of a Timoneer. "Do you even know what that is?" He had teased Alex when she pointed out his bars on his uniform.

"A drink or a Timoneer?" Alex had asked with a raised eyebrow.

"We'll start with Timoneer. We'll see soon enough if you know how to drink."

"In that case, shouldn't you return to your post and watch to make sure we don't run into rocks, Mr Ship Helmsman?" Alex replied in bored tones. Shocked at her knowledge - he had expected a ditzy, gullible, giggling blonde - the Timoneer (aptly enough called Tim), had laughed, sized her up, then repeated his offer for drinks. "Ah, ye be a feisty one, that's for certain. And just to ease ye pretty little mind, I'm authorized to leave me post; the ship is safely anchored. So how 'bout them drinks?" He laughed.

"Of what; water on-the-rocks?" Alex snorted in contempt, knowing full well the navy's policy on alcohol aboard the ship.

"I was thinking more along the lines of Madagascar Mead, but if you're not up to it…" Tim had trailed off, daring her without quite daring her.

"Where is it?" Alex asked quickly.

Alex and Tim stumbled drunkenly through the networked tunnels of passage-ways and cabins that made up the hull of the Naval cutter. Winded from the effects of heavy laughing, combined with her constraining dress and bodice, Alex leaned against a wall to catch her breath. Doubled over and wheezing slightly, she struggled to breathe normally, and keep the contents of her stomach under control and where they rightly belonged; in her stomach. She had matched Tim glass for glass, until about her ninth. Now she was so drunk she didn't even trust herself to be led topside. If she went back up on deck…she was only just sober enough to realise that presenting herself to the notable company - in the state she was in - was not a good idea. To make matters worse, all the alcohol hadn't kicked in yet, so Alex knew she was going to be a lot more drunk, and in a lot more trouble before the night was out. Why had she been so stubborn to win that stupid drinking game against Tim? Curse her damnable pride and competitiveness… _Speaking of Tim, where was he_?

Alex drew herself up to full height again, once she was sure she had fullreign over the contents of her stomach, intent on finding where Tim had gone to. Lifting her head, she was surprised to find herself nose-to-nose with the very person she was looking for. He had planted both of his strong arms on either side of her, pressing her up against the wall even further. Instead of the scene being intimate and romantic, Alex found it exactly the opposite. He was almost overbearing, standing over her like that. She screwed up her nose in distaste; he reeked of rum. Tim leant in to plant his mouth solidly on Alex's, but she turned her head away in disgust.

Frowning in anger, he grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and shook her. "Don't play coy wif me, Alex." He slurred, almost crushing her ribs as he squeezed her arms tightly by her sides. Alex gasped as the pain pierced through her alcohol-induced haze – he was too strong. "You've been toyin' wif me all night, and now ye can suffer the consequences," he grinned. Alex struggled feebly, but she couldn't break his vice-like grip. She had already realised Tim was quite strong, but in his drunken state he was almost invincible. Alex's eyes widened in shock as she realised she couldn't escape. Perceiving her pain and fright, Tim leaned in closer. "You're gunna like this." He leered.

CLIFFHANGER!

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**I'm really sorry, everyonehad such high expectations of this chapter, but I find this chapter also quite boring. There is some action coming up soon, I promise. Maybe I've got one of those writers-block thingies. Anyway, I'm really sorry about the lack of interesting occurrences; I feel like such a failure and a disappointment… Apologies for any misspelt words – I did check this chapter through four - now five - times, but I keep picking up on little errors; the most frequent being 'they' instead of 'the' or vice versa.**

**Pebbles1234 – I promise I'll write something darker and more interesting soon; a pretty vicious storm may or may not gather on their passage to Tortuga. And a little bit of Jack's past gets revealed, but that's not for a while to come yet. **


	15. You're the eunuch, right?

There was a sickening crunch of a male's …delicate areas… being rammed a good deal further up into his body. Alex had brought her knee up with deadly force, slamming into the Timoneer's groin area, and when he had pitched forward in pain, she powerfully head-butted the already-painfully injured navy man. Tim gasped in pain and collapsed against Alex, completely unconscious. Struggling to shift Tim's dead-weight off herself, Alex finally shrugged him off, letting him crash to floor. Staggering down the passageway back up to the deck - clutching her head in slight pain from both the effects of the alcohol and the head-butt - Alex murmured to herself, "You're right; I did enjoy that."

Smiling roguishly to himself, Jack materialised out of the shadows down the passageway. He had been worried about Alex's safety and welfare, but judging by the scene that had just been played out in front of him, he concluded that she was quite capable of handling herself, sober or not. He winced in empathetic pain as he passed the unconscious Timoneer, who had curled himself up into a foetal position. Stepping over the unfortunate man, Jack reminded himself never to try that move on Alex. Ever.

"Good job," Jack called to Alex's rapidly retreating figure. Startled, she turned back to face the gloom, tensed and ready for a fight. "Relax luv. 'S only your swash-buckling debonair scallywag of a Captain," he reassured her as he drew nearer, stepping into the flickering light cast by a torch-bracket. Alex looked like she was in deep contemplation for a moment, before wrinkling her nose up and fishing through the pockets of a red naval coat that some love-stuck lieutenant had given her.

"Merry Christmas." She slurred sluggishly, before turning on her heel and disappearing back into the gloom of the passageway.

"Wine." Jack remarked in surprise as he turned the bottle around in his hand, regarding the label. He sighed as he popped open the cork effortlessly, the bubbles spewing forth and foaming down his arm, "Pity; tonight's really more of a 'red' occasion…"

Alex lurched back up deck for some fresh air, trying to clear her head. She didn't trust herself amongst this polite society not to go blabbing something about Jack and his pirating ways, or insulting some pompous old navy man. Leaning against the railing as far away from the crowds of couples as possible, trying to get the sea air to sober her up but failing, Alex heard footsteps behind her.

"I couldn't help but wonder, have I met you someplace before?" The Vice-Admiral asked suavely in his fakely-exotic accent. It was the same officer who had cut in between Will and Alex, and it had taken Alex every ounce of skill she possessed to shake him off, but like a bad smell, he always came back.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you." Alex replied. Hidden like a chameleon on a leaf - in the crowd gathering around Alex and Vice Admiral Stone - was Jack; by now finally extremely drunk and finally extremely satiated. He stepped out of the safety of the throng to try to lend a hand, despite harbouring a feeling that regardless of his best efforts, the end-note of this occasion would be a sour one.

"I _said_," began the Vice Admiral more loudly, looking slightly annoyed that his pick-up line was ruined, "Have I met you someplace before?"

"I'm sorry, I still can't understand you through that thick accent." Alex replied innocently, fed up with containing her temper and playing the nice, quite, polite fiancé charade.

At Alex's last words, most spectators managed to convert their grins to small smirks or hide them behind fans or hands, but Jack gave such a loud snort of mirth that the entire crowd on the deck went quiet. Vice Admiral Stone turned around to regard Jack resentfully, "What do you want?" The Vice Admiral hissed at Jack. Jack raised his hands in submission.

"The lady says she doesn't know you, savvy?"

The Vice-Admiral grabbed the lapels of Jack's coat and drew him close to his snarling face, "We'll let the Lady decide for herself, shall we?" Which left Jack with no other choice than to conduct himself in the proper gentleman-like fashion: he delivered a swift roundhouse that connected solidly with the Vice's chiselled chin. Staggering back a few paces, the Vice simply shook his head several times, as if to clear it. Jack looked on, slightly horrified that his blow hadn't felled the navy-man. Lightening fast, the Vice struck out, his hands latching on to Jack's neck and lifting him bodily off the ground. Jack's eyes widened in surprise as his booted feet peddled air. Alex rushed over and attempted to break the Vice-Admiral's iron-grip on Jack, pounding pitifully on the Vice's arms. Once she saw that her efforts were pointless, she tried to gain his attention in other ways.

"Actually, now you mention it, you do look familiar," she stated desperately, trying to distract him from throttling Jack. She achieved no reaction or acknowledgement from the Vice, who was determinately fixated on watching Jack's face turn from a bright-red to a deep purple. Noticing this, Alex forged on loudly, "You were the eunuch, right?" Vice Admiral Stone almost dropped Jack in his surprise.

"No." He hissed, and resumed strangling Jack with doubled intensity and vigour. Through his haze, Jack noticed Alex take aim, and winced in preparation for what was to come. For the second time that night, there was the horrible crunch of a booted foot connecting with a very fragile area of masculine anatomy. The Vice dropped to his knees as Jack ungracefully crashed to the deck.

"Well, you are now."

Eyes narrowed in rage, still bent over in pain, the Vice charged towards Alex like a maddened bull. Jack, still lying on the floor recovering and sucking in air, calmly stuck out a leg and tripped the Vice Admiral, who crashed over the ship's railings and disappeared overboard into the cold, dark sea. The entire crew and guests on the _Virginia_ went quiet.

"I think I'm going to be sick." Alex murmured, clapping a hand over her mouth.

"Er, time to go." Jack said, peering over the side of the naval cutter, trying to gauge where the Vice had fallen. Jack wrenched Will away from Elsey the Vixen and made to follow Alex. He paused to apologise, "Sorry to bother you, had a great night, must do it again sometime," bowing with a flourish to every person he could find. When Jack could see he was getting nowhere he turned to plan B – blame someone else. (If that failed, plan C was enacted – run) "Who gave the poor, innocent lass grog anyway?" He demanded, rounding on the Admiral of the ship, who had the decency to look ashamed, even though it wasn't him that plied her with alcohol. _The man who had done the deed was paying painfully for that error_, Jack thought half cringing in empathy for the plight of the Timoneer.

"I'm sufficiently mature enough to be deemed accountable to judge the consequences of my actions, thank you very much!" Came Alex's indignant cry from the deck, before a gagging sound and a splashing noise followed swiftly after. There was a squawk of disgust from the waters bellow. Sounds like they had located the Vice Admiral. "I happen to enjoy spewing my guts over the side of a boat at midnight." Alex added, trying to save face. She peered down over the ship again and appeared to be studying the dark waters. "Sorry mate. You must admit though, it was a good shot." She called to the now very unfortunate Vice-Admiral.

"This would definitely be the opportune moment to unfortunatelydepart from this highly esteemed and enjoyable company." Jack muttered, tugging the smitten Will along in his tow and jumping the deck rail, landing in the jollyboat where Alex was already reclining. "Where were you when we were making new friends amongst the Navy?" Jack hissed at the love-struck young William. Getting no response, Jack peered closer at Will through the darkness, "What's the matter with you?" he asked uncertainly, waving a jewelled hand in front of Will's face, "Never mind that; row." He concluded, handing Will an oar, which Will took without even acknowledging it.

A few short minutes later, Will, Jack and Alex collapsed on the deck of the Black Pearl.

"Home sweet home!" Jack murmured, surreptitiously kissing the wooden planking. "Some mongrel neglected to swab the decks today…" He muttered, lifting his head from the foul-tasting deck. "Well, that was a waste of time," he finally conceded, rolling on his back and addressing the stars.

"Speak for yourself." Will replied dreamily. Alex grinned euphorically.

"I got rum! And ale!"

"Rum? Ale?" Jack repeated weakly in disbelief and disgust, "All you gave me was bubbly." Will managed to pull himself into the present; it seemed like the drug that was the flame-haired Elsey was finally wearing off him.

"Jack, she's –"

"completely smashed, I know…" Jack finished, "Even more so now than before... Luv," he addressed Alex delicately, "Do you have any rum left?" Alex gave a small hiccup then produced rum, fine chocolate, a bottle of vintage French wine and other delicacies from her red coat, laying them all out on the deck around her as she sat cross-legged.

"Ah, the royal benefits." Jack muttered darkly as he regarded the rum reverently, then took a swig. "Where exactly did you get all that from?" Jack asked, slightly annoyed Alex had discovered what he could not.

"The captain's quarters, in the false bottom of his trunk. You should see what else he has there." Alex weaved slightly, then gulped down some red wine. Jack was intrigued.

"What else?" He prompted.

Alex giggled hysterically for a few moments, took another swig of the wine then replied, "Dresses - all large sizes - wigs and undergar–" Here she burst into peels of laughter. She raised the bottle to her lips again, but Jack grabbed her wrist.

"Probably not a good idea, luv." He said gently.

No more than five minutes later, Will (now being the only awake and conscious crew-member aboard the _Black Pearl_) gently laid Alex down on her small, solid bed. She was out like a light, and Will wouldn't envy her the next morning when she awoke with her head pounding more fiercely than 12 foot waves barrelling against the side of a battered ship. Although she had already emptied the contents of her stomach rather accurately off the starboard side of the _Virginia_, Will turned her slightly on her side, just in case. In any case, he doubted she would be able to breathe properly, much less choke, in the dress she was wearing. _It's a wonder she fell asleep at all,_ Will thought as he loosen the back of her dress and her corset as much as he dared, to at least allow her to breathe normally. He stood at her doorway for a few seconds before he closed the door gently.

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**Sorry this one took me so long to post – I wrote it all out, read it through, decided I hated it, cursed and cussed for an hour straight, deleted it and started from scratch again. And after all that, I'm still not completely happy with the result. I apologise and blame it wholly on the two straight days of QSC trials. No doubt there'll be more spelling mistakes and grammatical errors than there are holes in Swiss cheese – my brain is no longer functioning. But smah, whatcha gunna do? **

**Best wishes and good luck to all my reviewers that have exams. Find consolation in the fact that learning about integers will not prolong your life-expectancy, so in the long term, it's really quite pointless trying to remember them. But regardless, good luck and study hard:)**

**Oh, yeah: Next chapter – more mystery of the Drifting Maiden. The association between it and the rest of the story is revealed. **


	16. My Bonny lies over the ocean

**The ship barrels through the turbulent murky waters, dipping over the foamy white crests of the waves like a cork bobbing through an overflowing gutter. The spray arcs up in a billowing fountain, pattering lightly over the deck, imitating light rain, save for its salty bitterness. At the helm of the ship - avoiding the sea's spray - stands a statuesque figure resplendent in a fine midnight-black ball-gown; serene in her dignity, reminiscence of an ancient Grecian goddess. Her tranquil pale face seems almost stark against the dark velvet of both her dress and the night sky. The winds pulls at her long hair, unfurling it like a triumphant silken banner. Her dark eyes mirror the glinting stars above, highlighted by long lashes and perfect, sculpted cheekbones. Not one wrinkle mars her delicate skin, nor a freckle blemishes her faultless features. She stands so tall and graceful and unfaltering on the deck it is almost as if she was carved from marble; a perfect personification of the goddess Aphrodite. **

**Barely heard over the crashing waves and screaming winds, she hums a low tune under her breath. Regarding the stormy sea and sky in melancholy, her wide eyes reflecting the lightening flashes flickering through the grey layers of heavy clouds, she tilts back her head as tears roll down her porcelain face. She whispers the timeless sea shanty in a low murmur, her voice whipped up by the winds and carried out to sea. Pirates and sailors alike turned from their duties or stirred in their sleep that night, swearing they heard a voice echoing over the mist of the sea, bewitching them with its heart-wrenching beauty; a siren's song. **

"**My Bonny lies over the ocean,  
My Bonny lies over the sea.  
My Bonny lies over the ocean.  
Oh bring back my Bonny to me."**

**Salty tears roll down her face, etching deep paths into her cheeks. At that moment the ship tackles a towering seven-foot wave head-on, the dark night is completely erased by the wall of water. The broken wave envelops the deck in a solid curtain of water, drenching the lower sails and masts, washing all the decks clear of any loose debris. Anyone standing on the deck would have been swept out to sea with the jetsam – completely obliterated – but as the water recedes, draining off the deck, the figure still stands, alone, at the helm. Her gown is no longer a magnificent velvety-soft material; the fabric is torn and rotted, the hem and sleeves fraying and moth-eaten. Her skin is no longer a creamy satin-smooth white; instead it is ulcerated - covered in open sores that refuse to heal, and pus-filled wounds that erupt to seep and ooze, staining her ruined dress even further. Her hair is no longer the rich, luxuriant raven-black; rather it hangs, limp and matted - great clumps missing to reveal a yellowed skull underneath. Her face is no longer the perfect oval – the reproduction of a marble statue of Venus – instead flesh falls and hangs off her face, revealing glimpses of white bone beneath. Her eyes - in which the very stars themselves once danced - are a milky-white; dead and sightless. Her deep sockets hold rheumy lifeless eyes and her once-full lips are frozen into a sneering grimace – her blackened teeth crooked and snarling. Instead of spending ten seconds underwater, it is almost as if the maiden had spent ten years rotting under the deepest depths of the ocean. **

**The sea revealing her for what she truly is, she laughs; a dry, guttural, whispering growl, and begins to sing again, picking up where she left off as if nothing had occurred. Her voice now sounds like nails over a blackboard; the cry of a dying animal. Again the wind steals her words, carrying them far over the sea, forcing them into sailor's ears, reverberating through their brain until they wake up in sheer terror, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, heart beating wildly in their throat. **

"**The winds have gone over the ocean,  
The winds have gone over the sea.  
The winds have gone over the ocean,  
May they bring back my Bonny to me."**

**At the completion of the song, the winds suddenly die down and the storm retreats, rolling away over the waves to its next destination. The figure finally turns to disappear back into the gloom of the cabin, chuckling evil to herself.**

"**Jack Sparrow – I will find you. I will track you down and ferret you out. You will be the one who breaks my curse, and I will hunt you and track you and haunt you, until I am finally freed." Lightening sears down, striking the main-mast of the ship, scorching the rotted wood and illuminating the ship's figurehead – a corpse beckoning out of the mist with glowing ruby eyes. **

_Jack…Jack… Jack… _

I love writing these type of chapters – they're a bit disturbing and gross, I know, and not much action occurs – but they make me sit down and think about how this story is going to tie together, because these scenes are actually quite pivotal in their explanation (it will all eventually come together and things become clear, I assure you). Not to mention, it's just fun writing the description; it's a bit angst-y, it's a bit horror-movie, it's a bit of fantasy.


	17. Storm, what storm?

**Okay, so I was bad yesterday. I clean forgot to update. I was watching movies and eating pizza with friends. Now I've got that confession off my chest, back to the story:**

**_Okay, so time for a ten-second plot summary. Jack has taken on some new crew members, intent on sailing to the next adventure, but got hindered before he was out of English waters by a naval affair. After he's gotten drunk and eventually escaped that duty, they're back on track, sailing to Tortuga to contemplate their next move. In the meantime, there's a new ship sailing the seven seas, seemingly intent on tracking Jack, who either knows how to, or is the key instrument in, breaking their curse. Will has possibly found himself a bonny-lass at the naval ball, and all Alex gained was a lieutenant's coat and a killer of a hang-over. _**

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Alex rolled out of bed sluggishly the next morning, hearing the shrill trilling of the cabin-boy's whistle, alerting all asleep that it was time to perform their duties of deck swabbing, greasing, patching the sails, repairing the rigging and polishing the bright-work and Charlie Noble, which everybody was ordered to do but nobody really bothered about. Jack, incensed about the untidy state his ship had been left in the night before, was ordering the ship to be cleaned so well he'd have to rename the ship from 'Black Pearl" to "Ivory Pearl."

Alex refused to stay lazing about in bed while there was work to be done, hangover or no hangover. With her eyes still closed, Alex heard the thumping treads of the men on the deck, the harsh grinding of the sandstone scrubbing the wood on the deck, the shrill cry of Cotton's parrot, the muffled sound of the ship rolling up and down over the waves, the muted swearing and curses of the pirates and the overall clanking and groaning of the ship itself. All these sounds had become second nature to Alex now, and she felt more at home on the waves than on land. Even her equilibrium had barely needed time to adjust to the constant movement on the sea. The only thing she needed now was to know how to perform all the tasks the pirates did daily.

Moaning in annoyance, she opened her eyes. "Caesar's whores!" She exclaimed, shielding her eyes to the sudden onslaught of bright light that filtered through the French-style windows and seemed to burn into the very back of her already tender brain.

"Good morning," Came the cheerful voice of William Turner, "Tea?" He inquired innocently.

"I'll never drink another drop of anything amber-coloured as long as I live." Alex replied forcefully, slowly squinting an eye open.

"It's a herbal remedy Jack picked up from an African priestess." Will explained, taking her hand and placing the tea-cup in it. "So it's not really amber-coloured at all." He added sympathetically. Alex studied the tea-cup and its contents suspiciously.

"Will, the tea is _blue_."

"I know; but it could be worse," Will apologised.

"Like what?" Alex replied grumpily.

"You could have seen what ingredients are in it."

"I'm assuming tea leaves aren't the only ingredient."

"To be honest, I don't know if tea leaves are an ingredient in it at all," Will admitted.

Alex sighed, contemplating the steaming cup, "I'm just astounded Jack owns something other than pewter mugs." She tried to crack open her other eye, but everything was nothing more than brightly-coloured blurs.

"You'd be surprised about what Jack has. Sometimes what others can't see or touch is more precious than all the treasures under the sea." Will said cryptically as he guided the tea-cup to Alex's mouth. Alex took a fortifying gulp, her face screwed up in disgust.

"That was… surprisingly good, actually." She conceded. At once her vision cleared and her head stopped pounding as intensely or insistently.

"Jack wants you on deck as soon as you're ready." Will relayed, bowing slightly on his way out.

Alex happily threw off the crumpled silver dress (massaging her now-unrestricted ribs) and got changed into something more comfortable. As tempted as she was to layer on as much loose-fitting clothing as she possessed (borrowed from Jack's extensive store-cupboards) Alex knew enough about the pirating life and chores to see that loose clothing got caught in dangerous things and meant a nasty accident followed by intense pain and horrible disfigurement. Better to wear clothes that were not as loose around the wrists, ankles and collar.

Jack stood at the stern of the ship, leaning languidly over the recently polished wheel of the _Black Pearl_, contemplating the sky and all of life in general. He had, as yet, no fixed course as such, but a fixed target; whether he would pursue it this voyage or not was yet to be decided.

"Where is that blasted excuse for a lady?" He muttered under his breath. Earlier this morning he had the supreme pleasure of watching the _Virginia_ becoming nothing more than a speck on the horizon of an otherwise perfect day. Of course, Jack had to get up rather early that morning to achieve that goal without any further interference from the Naval cutter, but it was worth the effort. In Jack's opinion, prolonged contact with any type of law enforcement was just inviting trouble. _Court with the devil and do a dance with death_, was one of the old pirate sayings Jack went by. And the most common dance was the old pirate's hempen jig at the end of a three foot rope.

Another rule that Jack preferred to abide-by was from the Pirating Code, article number 6 – no women or children on board. And that rule was for good reason. Alex certainly had acted maturely enough last night to be counted in both categories. Women caused fights and insecurities on the ship, and they never paid their keep. Jack often overlooked gender when searching for crew members; focusing on ability and loyalty instead of beef and brawn. He had taken Alex on because she had seemed able and willing to do a pirate's share of the work, and seemed more intelligent than most, yet all she had brought upon the ship so far was trouble. The only thing she had done was swan around in dresses, which was what any women could do well enough, Jack thought bitterly. Perhaps he was being too hard on her, but she had seemed so promising that day at the gaol, and it irked Jack to think he had misjudged someone's character so vastly, especially when his approval was so hard to win.

Irritated, Jack was pacing the bridge deck without realising it. He watched his men adjust the jib sheet and sails to catch the westerly wind. "'Vast!" He called, striding down onto the main deck. One of his men hadn't tied the rigging tight enough, and the knot would surely pull itself undone under the strain of the lightest wind, "I believe the crew may wish to know who was responsible for this display of shoddy workmanship, so that when this cable flies undone and takes out someone's eye, they might at least have the name of the person who so kindly caused the damage. And take that ridiculous hat off." Jack snapped. In a mock bow, the pirate swept off his hat and bowed low, flourishing his hat. As he straightened, Jack realised the pirate in question wasn't a he, but a she.

"Damn you to the inner circle of hell; can't you just pick one or the other? Dresses or breeches?" Jack cursed as he took Alex's new garb in. Dressed in long breeches that seemed to make her legs go on forever, Alex also wore a simple open-collared cream shirt with the sleeves rolled back and her hair once more tied back by her neck. Somehow she now looked extremely tall and lean, all angles and no curves, though Jack knew enough from experience to understand that dresses made curves, not vice versa. Kohl had been smudged underneath her eyes to reduce the almost blinding-glare the sea threw up from the sparkling waves. The emphasis made her eyes seem even bluer than before and the bridge of her nose slightly longer and more masculine.

"Now where's the fun of being someone everyone expects you to be?" Alex smiled.

"Whatever your dress, that rigging is too loose. And the foresail is sagging." Jack replied grumpily.

"Well, it will have to be changed in no less time it takes to fasten it tightly anyway." Alex replied offhandedly.

"If you feel you can captain the ship better than I, by all means go ahead." Jack snapped, gesturing contemptuously towards the ship's wheel. Alex looked as if she was seriously considering it, but instead Jack could see the visible effort it took for her not to let her temper get the better of her. As much as she was annoyed with the Captain, she had too much respect to challenge his authority.

"I'll be in the kitchen trying to help the cook prepare something edible for dinner." Alex finally offered.

"Why not stay and learn the ropes?" Jack replied, motioning to the lines almost scornfully. "That's what you're here for."

"I thought it best I keep out of the way during the storm. No doubting, because I'm a typical woman, I'll just get in the way." Alex reasoned sarcastically, before stalking off towards the kitchen gallery.

'Storm," Jack snorted. "What storm?"

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**So, next update we find out; storm, or no storm? Jack is assuming it's a light gale approaching, but is Alex closer to the truth when she described it as a storm? **

**Differing opinions with the last chapter; some thought '_gross'; _some preferred the darker chapters. Most chapters that feature the Drifting Maiden are going to be considerably darker, because that ship is pure, scary, damn downright _evil_. **

**Thanks to - okay I've lost the email of who it was - who alerted me to a mistake in the previous chapter. I will fix that up. Soon. Just not now. Because I'm lazy.**


	18. Calm Before the Storm

**I forgot to mention – Check. Out. My. Reviews! I still can't believe people like my story _that_ much! It's just beyond my comprehension. Many thanks to all my readers and reviewers. Wow. That's all I can say. W. O. W.**

**Last update: Captain Jack's famous last words, "Storm? What storm."**

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"Captain, there's some fearfully strong winds heading fast our way," Jimbilly Jackson called down from the Crow's Nest. Sure enough, no sooner had the words been called down did a slight breeze blow up suddenly; eerily, making the sails swell and bulge. The sea began to be whipped up into small waves that slapped hard against the hull of the _Black Pearl._

"The Drifting Maiden." Jack whispered as the winds suddenly blew up, whistling around the masts and rigging. It sounded almost like a woman screaming in pain and sorrow. The sails bloated and billowed, catching air like a drowning man does his last breath, and the ship retched forward. The crew on deck swarmed over to the rigging to loosen the jib and redirect the ship before the rudder was ruined. Luckily Alex had left the knot shoddily tied, and the pirates were quickly able to steer the ship with the winds.

Jack stood in the middle of the deck, listening as the wind slowly died down. He felt, as always, a sense of loss. Perhaps if his crew hadn't been so quick to act, he would have known for sure… Jack disappeared into his quarters.

"What are the co-ordinates?" Will asked the Helmsman, Salt Peter.

"Dunno." He replied simply. "All I knows is after this gale which always comes as soon as we're out of English waters, I let the ship steer itself. The tides or the winds always bring us straight in Turtle Bay."

"Tortuga." Will surmised.

"Aye." The Helmsman agreed. Will turned to contemplate the sea. He didn't forget the last time the island was mentioned, and in what context. A threat by a man who had every intention to follow it through. And as large as the sea was, Will had no doubt that he, Alex and the giant would cross paths again.

Alex emerged from the scullery heaving the pewter cauldron of stew onto the mess table. The table spanned the entire length of the room, and was scored with marks and profanities etched by knives and daggers, scorches from hot metal and scratched tallies of gold and silver owed in games of cards. The sailors winced in their seats; the 'slop bowl' was synonymous with dishwater and rancid pieces of meat and skin, boiled together into a watery soup. She dished out the stew, which at least smelt better than other times, and they dejectedly grabbed their weevil-filled biscuits and dunked them into the liquid, in an attempt to soften the hard-as-rock wheat-cakes. But once they tasted the stew, the bread was immediately forgotten. Spoons – in some cases – were picked up and the table echoed with slurping noises.

"What is this?" Mumbled a sailor through a hurried mouthful, the stew dribbling out of the corners of his chapped lips.

"Stew." Alex replied simply.

"Did we have a Stew on board?" Will joked.

"That's the on the menu for next week, so mind you behave yourself, William Turner." Alex answered, grinning.

"What's in this?" The sailor tried again. "And how come we've never used it before?"

"Herbs and spices are in it." Alex stated simply, "And your cook wasn't previously acquainted with them. But he is now, thankfully, so I'll never have to set foot in that steaming hell-hole of a kitchen." She complained.

There were collective moans of disappointment around the table.

"But I thought women-folk were meant to stay in the kitchen," asked one close-minded sailor.

Will winced at what was surely coming to the ignorant man. Alex merely shrugged.

"And men were meant to keep both feet on the ground." She replied simply. "But look where you are now. In the deepest waters of the ocean with no land in sight."

"But wouldn't you be better off in the kitchen?" The sailor, Robert Thoman, simply called 'Bloated Bert' persisted.

Alex slammed the ladle down onto the marked table. "I'll bloody well fight you if that's what I have to do to prove myself around here." She said heatedly.

"There'll be no fighting aboard the Black Pearl." Rang out Jack's voice from the shadows, where he'd obviously hidden while all the others were eating dinner. He leaned back on his rickety chair. "Any fighting will be done with Davy Jones as your witness." He said ominously.

"That Davy is one busy boy." Alex muttered. Jack ignored her and continued.

"If the lady wishes to prove herself, she'll perform her duties as the rest of you do; no more, no less. If she fails, she cooks." Alex's mouth dropped open in indignation, and she opened her mouth to protest. "But," Jack went on, silencing her with one swift glance her way, "if she pulls her weight, I'll hear no more of this talk, or I'll have you for mutiny, Robert Thoman. So if there are no more pressing matters calling for my immediate concern, I suggest all hands on deck. There'll be a storm tonight, which may blow us almost all the way to Tortuga, if we're ill-fortuned." The sailors murmured in surprise; they hadn't felt the swells while they had been below deck.

"Ill-fortuned?" Whispered one of the new crew. Will pushed his chipped bowl away from him and explained.

"Tortuga is leagues away – three days on average – any storm that blows us there in only a day has a prerequisite of powerful winds, and huge waves. That means lots of us pitching around, lots of things going 'snap,' lots of us fixing said things. And occasionally us going 'snap' too. And that's a bit harder to fix." Will remarked darkly.

As soon as everyone traipsed up to the fresh air, they noticed the slight wind that was filling the sails. The more seasoned sailors could feel the threat of the storm in the air, and the old men could feel the ache in their bones. Old Tom Hankins got sent to his hammock because his hips were playing up so badly. "Mark my words," he mumbled, "I haven't felt an ache this bad since the storm in Sardinia, back when I was just a young sea pup. Bodes badly for the person, it does. Don't envy you lads at all, I don't." He mumbled to himself as he limped away. Several of the younger pirates mimicked his limp behind his back, but hurriedly desisted when Jack threw his sextant at them and Billy Johns threw his cane at the ones Jack missed.

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**Next update: The Storm. Will Jack and his crew _ever_ make it to Tortuga? (Just out of interest – does it bother anyone that it's taking them a while to get to Tortuga? Is anyone absolutely _desperate_ to see them make _immediate_ anchorage in Tortuga? Just let me know if you are, and I'll see if I can speed the chapters up some.)

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**

**I keep on forgetting to reply to my loyal reviewers; sincerest apologies for my abhorrent neglect (I love that word). The past two updates have been a struggle to get posted before my internet shuts off at 9:30. But I'm back on track today.**

**Hippolytos – I'm glad that you've finished your exams. I hope they went well :)**

**DCoD – So you've picked up on the fact that a wild storm is a precursor for the appearance of the Drifting Maiden. Very observant; I suppose the outcome of the next chapter has lost its element of surprise somewhat. Ah, well… **


	19. Taking on casualties

**Hello all. I think this chapter may have more errors than the norm, due to the fact my brain has suddenly decided to take up playing the drums in my head, making editing a story with really tiny print - on a very bright white background - exceedingly difficult. I feel like I haven't described this scene adequately, and even to me it seems confusing, so I've included a brief synopsis at the end of the chapter. **

**NB: Sailing terms used extensively in this chapter:**

**Yard-arm/yard – horizontal spar/beam thingy that holds the sail up to the mast. **

**Scabbards – thingy that holds sword to belt and prevents wearer from slicing their legs to ribbons. **

**Back-winded – falling behind the wind**

**Charlie Noble – gallery smokestack (chimney for kitchen cooking) made of brass**

**Baldric Sash – material belt that, when combined with a leather belt, holds the pirate's weapons like pistols, cutlasses etc at their waist. **

**Stern – back part of ship**

**Starboard – right side of ship (I had to look that one up – for shame)

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The squall poured down so fast and so hard that the crew couldn't even notice if someone was beside them. One moment they could see the ocean, lapping gently for miles around them, and they were calmly talking to each other on deck; the next thing there was just heart-stopping booms of thunder and the pouring rain. It was almost impossible to hear Jack's bellowing commands over the booming thunder, but he was easy to make out in the rain – his solitary figure stood by the helm, silhouetted by the constant lightning strikes. It was with those strikes that the crew hurriedly looked around to see who was where, doing what. But despite this, the crew felt a weird sense of isolation; they couldn't hear anything over the rolling thunder and shrieking winds, and the sheets of dark rain gave the illusion of standing alone on an empty deck. Crew member's mouth's opened, but no words seemed to come out - stolen by the wind. The sails flapped relentlessly in the winds, but no noise was heard. Just the scream of the storm and the scraping of the ship asshe struggled to hold herself together. The scene was coloured in washed-out monochromatic shades of blue, grey, white and black.

The ship ploughed through the 9 foot waves, which spilled over the decks, knocking the buccaneers to their knees and soaking them through. A wave broke over Will's head, making him feel like he had just been submerged into a deep bucket of ice-cold water. The sails billowed eerily white in the darkness of the storm, and the ship creaked and groaned, adding to the abnormality of the night. The rain was ice-cold and felt like needles on the skin. Everyone was soaked to the bone. Will felt like he was drowning from the torrential rain, and freezing to death at the same time. Salt water stung his eyes and burned his nose, the back of his throat and his lungs. His lungs felt constricted and he felt extremely lethargic; like he'd been fighting the storm for 24 hours, not 24 minutes.

The entire crew, despite their previous experience, felt totally out of their element. The storm followed no rules or definite pattern. The winds blew from all directions, and Jack ordered the sails to be pulled down before the masts snapped off. But the ropes and rigging - stiff from cold and taunt from the driving winds – were impossible to undo.

"They won't budge!" Billy John Fosters, the sailmaster, cried in anguish and worry, his hands almost freezing onto the ropes. The rain had turned to the point of freezing, and small icicles clung to the rigging and frosted the masts. Jack's voice filtered back to them, faint and broken-up.

"Cut though the bloody things – they can be replaced!" The crew's hands jumped to their hips. With horror they tugged at the scabbards; their swords and cutlasses were frozen into their scabbards. In terror they turned to look as the brass and metal fittings in the ship. They all had icicles and a thin sheeting of ice growing over them. Will brought his hand to his face. A light coating of ice rubbed off his day-old stubble.

"Tis no natural storm." Gibbs murmured.

"Get rid of the sails!" Jack roared over the crashing waves. The ship careened dangerously at a sudden gush of wind, and the mast groaned in pain. The crew stood transfixed in horror as it began to splinter and crack.

"Caesar's whores." Alex yelled, grabbing the rigging and throwing herself up.

"Alex!" Will hollered, fighting his way over to her. He grabbed her ankle and wrenched her back from climbing up the rigging, catching her as she fell back to the deck.

"What do you think you're doing?" Will bellowed at her, fighting to be heard over the driving rain, which fell into his eyes and forced him to squint.

"Getting rid of the sails!" Alex yelled back, struggling in Will's arms to clamour back up the rigging.

"How?"

"Cutting them loose with my dagger." Alex brandished an unsheathed dagger from her boot, a light coating of ice covering it as soon as it was exposed to the cold night air.

"Stay here; I'll do it!" Will commanded, seizing the dagger from her hand and securing it in the belt at his waist.

"No, I'm lighter than you, I'll go!"

"I'm the seasoned pirate here; I'm more familiar with the _Black Pearl_ than you are. You've barely spent a week on a ship."

"No!" Alex yelled stubbornly. Will looked pained, glancing between Alex's stubborn-set jaw and the tortured masts and quivering sails. Without further hesitation he bodily picked Alex up and strode over to Gibbs, who was trying to lash the cannons to their ports. "Take her, and don't let her get away." He instructed, passing the still resisting Alex over to Gibbs, before once more striding back to the main mast and ascending the rigging. Alex ceased her fighting to watch Will in fear as he nimbly stepped out onto the yard-arm, wrapping his hands around the ropes hanging above his head for balance. Stooping down, he pulled Alex's unsheathed dagger from his belt and slashed at the top of the sails, several inches below where they were tied to the yard-arm.

"What is the daft lad up to?" Cried Billy Johns in horror.

"Saving the ship." Jack murmured.

"How are we to get to Tortuga with no sails?" Asked Fosters in shock, addressing no-one in particular.

"And how are we to get to Tortuga with the ship and all its crew at the bottom of the sea?" Jack replied.

All faces peered up into the rigging to watch as Will stooped and walked the length of the fore-mast's bottom yard, dragging the dagger through the canvas the yard held underneath him. There was a sudden gust of wind and the ship lurched starboard. There was no way the crew could keep their grip on the masts and railings, let alone Will keep his footing. Alex, Gibbs and the rest of the pirates were pitched forward and thrown onto the deck. Jack stumbled but kept his footing at the wheel. Alex scrambled to her feet – released from Gibb's bear-hold - shielding her face from the gusts of rain as she scanned the rigging. If Will had been pitched overboard, there was no hope for him… He would have been swallowed by the ravenous and unforgiving sea, another new acquaintance for Davy Jones.

There, swinging just in front of the very sail he'd been attempting to cut loose was Will, spinning madly at the end of the rope he'd wrapped around his wrist in an attempt to keep balance before the ship had lurched. It had cut into his wrist to the bone and held tight. He swung back and forth in front of the sail, attempting to grab a hold of the cordage from another loose rope. Back on deck, Alex held her breath, unwilling to move in her anxiety, in case her movement somehow caused Will to fall. Still daggling from the rigging, Will's almost frozen hand grasped his dagger that hung above his head, still stuck in the taunt and frozen canvas sail. He held it, and with a loud ripping sound the dagger tore free, after being dragged through about 8 feet of sail from his pendulum swinging underneath.

"You'll be sewing that bloody thing up!" Jack cursed into the winds. "Properly!" He added futilely. "Backstitching and all." In all truth, Jack was almost certain that Will - being a former blacksmith by trade - had absolutely no experience with a needle and thread, and trying to force him to repair the sails may leave them in a worse condition than what they were before Will attempted to sew them together. Perhaps Alex, being a woman and all, would be a better choice… through the veil of rain, Jack could vaguely make out Alex struggling wildly against Gibbs, elbowing him in the stomach and stomping on his foot, grinding it into the deck. Jack could hear Gibbs bellowing in pain even over the roaring of the storm. Perhaps Alex wouldn't be a good choice either… The torn left sail no longer held wind, and the ship became back-winded, lurching slightly to the right and falling faintly in speed.

One-handedly resheathing the dagger into his baldric sash, Will tried again to grab the yard-arm. This time he managed, and precariously pulled himself up onto the yard. He straddled the yard and bracingly unwound his hand from the rope. From the deck, Alex couldn't make out what his hand looked like as the rain doubled its force, blinding her as it fell into her up-turned face. Blinking the water out of her eyes, she glanced up and with the flash of lightening saw the middle sail glide off the fore-mast.

"Sail falling starboard side! Stern!" Alex bellowed. The crew who the heavy sail was about to fall on scrabbled out of the way. The next sail to fall Jack noticed, as it billowed towards the deck like some vestal apparition of a ghost. He opened his mouth to yell a warning, but the wind caught the sail and threw it out to sea.

"Just take the bloody ship!" He cried out in annoyance, appealing to the stormy sky, but his words were swallowed up by a crash of violent thunder. "Take my sails, steal my thunder…" Jack muttered bitterly. There was a loud ripping sound as Will slashed another sail. This time it didn't fall to the ground, but entangled itself around the lower part of the mast. _He only needs to cut down one more and the ship has a chance of making port_, Jack thought desperately.

The rain eased slightly, and the entire crew peered up at the upper-masts. Alex had attempted to climb the rigging, but had once more been caught by Gibbs in an unbreakable bear-hold, and dragged back to the relative safety of the overhang from the captain's cabin. Will was crouched on one of the top sail of the main-mast, the yard lighter and smaller, which held smaller sails. It was also one level higher up than the previous sails.

"Will!" Jack bellowed on a terrible premonition. "Get off the mast!" But it was too late.

Like it was in slow motion, a jagged lightening bolt cut through the sky and struck the mizzen-mast; the smallest and luckily the lightest and less-needed mast on the Black Pearl. With a loud screech of splintering wood, it crashed past the main mast, creating an almost domino effect. The top sail of the falling mast tore past the yard where Will was perched, snapping the yard arm off from the main mast completely. With almost inhuman strength, Alex broke free of Gibb's hold and rushed back onto the open deck, "WILL!" Although Will was so far up, Alex swore she could make out his dark eyes widen in surprise before being swallowed up by the plummeting mast.

With the wail and unearthly screech of a dying animal, the mast crashed almost onto the deck – it hoovered inches above the deck, barely supported by a few ropes and cables, as the broken yard-arms and spurs from the main mast rained down around it. Once more the crews gaze was pulled to the upper-mast. Alex's eyes desperately searched through the pounding rain, scanning the remaining yards, booms and gaffs – anywhere where Will may have had a chance of grabbing a hold of. The rain fell down heavily in sheets, the tragic scene almost hidden from Alex by a thin curtain - a fine mist of water - shielding her from knowing Will's fate, shielding her from harsh reality. Will wasn't there. In the shock and muddle of Alex's thoughts, one thought came through clearly. It was a solid fact; where Will had stood, there was no way the falling mast could have missed him. _He must have been knocked off the mast_, Alex thought. _No, he was too quick for that; he would have used a rope and swung to safety somewhere_, was her next desperate thought. _He's not dead… he can't be dead._ _Will… Will?

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Did everyone get what happened there? If you didn't, here's the explanation. The Drifting Maiden creates a storm that pre-empts its presence. The temperature drops below zero (Celsius), which caused all the swords to freeze into their scabbards (don't ask me if this is physically possible, but it works for this story), so Will grabs a dagger from Alex (which was unsheathed, so it wasn't frozen into its holding) and begins to cut down the sails.

The Black Pearl has three masts – the main one in the middle, and two smaller ones located in front and behind (there's a better explanation for all this, so I hope no-one's a sailing buff and picks me up over these discrepancies). The main mast has three levels of sails, held up by yards. Will cut off the first sail on the main mast, moved to both lesser masts and cut the lowers sails down also, then moved back to the main mast, and climbed up a level to cut another sail down. When he was up on the second level, lighting struck one of the lesser masts, and like a domino effect, it fell past the other two masts, brushing past them and snapping off a few yards and cables etc. Will was on one of the yard-arms that got snapped off, meaning he lost his perch and basically fell off the yard arm. The mizzen mast crashed to the deck, but the main mast remains standing, albeit missing a few spurs and yardarms etc.

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**So, where is Will? Pitched into the sea, another casualty to present to Davy Jones. Swallowed by the sea, only to turn up on a deserted island? Is he even alive at all? Mortally wounded underneath the fallen mast? You'll have to wait until next update to find out. **

**Jousting Elf with a Sabre – (you have a really long name, do you know that?) Thanks for your review – new reviewers are always welcomed :)**

**DCoD - I'm not sure exactly how long it takes to get to Tortuga – I did look up pirating ports in the 17th-18th Century when I initially drafted that chapter, but it was so long ago I've forgotten all the information, like the exact bearing and leagues from Britain.**

**Pebbles1234 – Ah ha; you caught me. It wasn't written in the story how Jack came by the knowledge of the Drifting Maiden, which was my error in oversight. Basically, Jack knows because he's Jack Sparrow – he knows virtually everything. The Drifting Maiden has been sailing the seas for just over two centuries, but it was previously believed to be a myth, like sea sirens etc. Over the years, Jack has heard of tales in bars of it and it's cursed crew, but also previously dismissed the legend as exactly that; a legend. After he learnt of their latest victims and whereabouts, from that bartender in chapter 7, he knew that the storm that's blown up now is the work of the Damned Maidens. He may even suspect the Drifting Maiden is tracking him; he's a sly dog, that Captain Jack; he's been around for a while. I'll explain the origins of the Drifting Maiden, and the surrounding curse, a few chapters down the track. **

**Hippolytos – Yes, you're my 80th reviewer! I did the 80-review-dance in my office chair (similar to the 20-review-dance, only 4 times better). I haven't forgotten about Anamaria; I'm trying to work her into the story a bit further down the track; someone Jack and Company runs into in their hour of need - I don't know, but she deserves a grand entrance, whatever it is. As for mini-plots, I'm trying to ingrain them into the story, without confusing the plot and drifting off on a wild tangent, which I have a bad habit of doing. At the risk of exposing the story, a few sub-plots include: the history of the Drifting Maiden, whatever mystery Alex is holding back (from chapter 14), a new pirate adversary for Jack and his motley crew (remember the disgruntled giant at the docks in chapter 5), a betrayal and maybe some more that I can chuck in. Once the Black Pearl makes it to the Tortugan bay, everything should move at a much faster pace than previously; everything should come together. **


	20. Eye of the Storm

**Did everybody find the terminology explanations helpful in the last chapter, or just downright annoying and insulting to their intelligence? I hope the last chapter wasn't too confusing; from what I can tell everybody seemed to understand it, and find some action through it, which is good. I was concentrating on trying to make everything make sense, so I was worried there'd be too much explanation and not enough action.

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A flash of lightning blazed and Alex's eyes feverishly searched the decks for Will. All around her stood her crew-mates, limp and mute in shock. Without warning, the rain had stopped; the wind died down. It was as if the storm had stopped to survey the damage it had created and admire its handiwork. The _Black Pearl_ was in the eye of the storm - a protective circle of complete calm, while the storm raged all around and the ocean tossed and heaved. The silence and tranquillity was somehow more eerie and unnatural than the rampant storm. All around the ship was a wall of water caused by the torrential rain; yet the skies about and above the _Black Pearl_ were clear. The fallen mast hovering above the deck creaked ominously, the straining cables barely holding its weight. Alex moved cautiously towards the suspended mast, looking hopefully and carefully for any sign of Will underneath, but with a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. She desperately wanted to find Will underneath the mast, but she wanted to find him alive and intact. Light pattering of dripping water was the only faint sound that could be heard.

A scraping sound broke the almost-silence. The pirates automatically jumped back a fraction, expecting another canvas or mast to fall. Hurriedly looking up, heart rising in her chest in hope, Alex sighted the cause. Gripping the dagger set deep to the hilt in the wood of the main mast was Will, hanging precariously 50 feet above deck, nothing between him and death but four inches of folded metal imbedded in wood. There was a drag mark of at least 3 feet scratched into the mast's wood above where he now perilously hung. Will had plunged his dagger into the mast and simply jumped off the yard-arm, hoping the dagger would finally bite into the wooden mast and take his weight, which it eventually had. Even now the dagger was slipping further and further down the mast, loosened from the wood by his weight.

"Grab the canvas!" Jack shouted, and all the crew swarmed around the fallen sail crumpled on the deck. Stretching it out tightly underneath Will to form a crude trampoline, they all called up to him.

"LET GO!"

Will didn't need to be told twice, as he unhesitatingly relinquished his grip on the dagger, falling onto the taunt canvas. After bouncing several times, Will settled in the middle of the canvas, lying on his back. Looking up at the now-clear sky, he sighed in annoyance.

"Typical." He stated lightly as he clamoured out of the sail; he'd put his life on the line cutting down the sails, and now the wind had died down. He walked up to Alex – who was mute and stock-still in shock at seeing Will alive and safe- and patted her on the shoulder.

"Where's my dagger?" Alex said at length, her voice finally returning.

"It's your turn to cut down the sails, so you can collect it while you're up there." Will grinned, as they both peered up to where the dagger's hilt now innocently gleamed, 50 feet up from the deck. They both knew that the dagger would remain there for a very, very long time.

"On second thoughts, I don't really need it just now."

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In the brief calm the eye of the storm provided, Jack took the time to order those injured to the ship's sick bay. The remaining crew either helped those injured to the sick bay, or tried to secure the rigging and fallen mast. Jack also let all the crew go back to their quarters to get warmer clothing. As Will was searching in his battered sea trunk for some thermal clothes, he was shocked to see a large patch of crimson blossoming around his shoulder. Hurriedly he pulled his soaked shirt off to see a large splinter of wood embedded in his upper arm. Some of the wood from the split mast must have flown into him. Will counted himself lucky that it hadn't hit any vital organs or arteries. Actually, he counted himself lucky he had survived that experience at all. He recalled the feeling of absolute horror and dread he felt as he saw the mast plummeting towards him… That inescapable knowledge that he was almost certainly dead; and had just stared death straight in it's face. Time had slowed down as he watched the mast crashing towards him, the rigging and cables flailing and twisting loosely after it. And the heart-stopping, mind-jolting, cold, pure fear as he gritted his teeth, closed his eyes and launched himself off his solid perch and scraped down the mast, so certain that the dagger wouldn't bite into the wood; wouldn't take his weight. He had never felt so helpless in his life.

Will could feel himself reliving the moment again, feel the dizzying emptiness of hanging suspended in air, wind buffeting all around him, tearing through his clothes, intent on finishing the job it began; making him crash to the deck of the Black Pearl. He made the conscious effort to turn his thoughts away from reliving that memory, and focused back on the present – his injured arm. Tentatively he tested his shoulder, moving it in a small circle. He didn't feel any pain. _It must be the shock_, he thought in the rational, calm, detached manner that shock provides, _but the cold weather probably helps_. Before he had second thoughts, Will grasped the protruding wood and sharply yanked it out, gritting his teeth in pain. He quickly wound a frayed bandage around his arm, pulled his sodden shirt over his head and headed back up to the decks.

Will emerged back on deck and was almost blown off the ship as the wind returned, doubled in force. As it was, unprepared, Will stumbled to his knees onto therain-slicked deck. Staggering and leaning almost doubled-over into the wind, Will made his way over to the nearest mast. The remaining sails had torn themselves to shreds, or torn themselves away from their spars completely, but were now flapping loosely, and played havoc with the attached ropes and rigging. The ropes and heavy rigging, embedded with metal and other things undesirable to be assailed with unsuspectingly, were writhing and slithering around the ship like trapped snakes, only twice as deadly. Almost as if possessed, the cordage could ensnare human arms, legs or necks and suddenly yank them any which way the winds pleased.

The ropes impeded the pirate's task, and those unfortunate enough to be ensnared by the coils counted themselves lucky if they retained their limbs. The sailors' trapped limbs were jerked roughly by the thrashing ropes, causing severe burns at the least, but often cutting down to the bone, or with the force of the wind behind it, pulling the sailor off his feet, and either stranding them feet above the decks, surrounded by whipping rigging and fluttering sails, or cast the sailor heavily back to the decks or overboard. Those with the ropes entangled around their necks were lucky not to be strangled or hanged in the pandemonium. As soon as the pirates felt the familiar tug and wet rope at the wrists, ankles, arms or necks, any unsheathed daggers were quickly drawn and the ropes were hacked at forcefully, abandoning all concern over the ship's welfare. Unfortunately, some ropes were too thick or frozen, and pirates dropped everything to frantically tug at the ropes in a vain attempt to loosen its tightening death grip.

Rigging crashing about that didn't capture or ensnare limbs could still cause a great deal of damage, easily hit an inattentive pirate, bruising flesh or shattering bone. Those with more brains than others stopped trying to duck and dodge the flailing lines, and began attempting to gather as much loose cables, rigging and ropes as they could hold and secure them to masts, or tie them down to anything handy. Will noticed during a break of the rain's slather that Alex was still on deck, trying to catch and tie down anything loose – unaided – when even the most brawniest of pirates were hollering for any able-bodied men to take some slack for them. Pure madness. Will stumbled over to her and helped her heave. As he struggled to help her tie down the cables, he looked over her in wonder at her audacity and exasperation at her recklessness. He was amazed that she had managed to hold down the wayward rigging at all, but he was annoyed she'd attempted to do so without aid. He understood she felt she had to prove herself to the rest of the crew. He could only imagine what being the only woman on the ship would feel like; feeling like you were always being judged and having to prove yourself constantly to critics that believed you were always one rung below them, but what she was doing was bordering on pig-headedness and suicide. She was holding down the cables with nothing more than sheer stubbornness and determination to prove herself, Will decided. She was lacking everything she needed to perform this task; weight, experience and muscle, yet here she was, soaked to the bone, muscles straining and hair plastered in her eyes, just like everyone else. In his eyes, and many of the crew's, Alex had earned her place on the _Black Pearl. _

Meanwhile, removed from the happenings on the main deck, but still very-much concerned with their struggle, was Jack. He had given up trying to preserve his ship, and was instead concentrating on preserving the lives of his men. He realised the best way he could do this was to take the wheel, as the Black Pearl would respond to no other commands except his touch, but stubbornly, Jack tried to maintain the original course. He wanted to see this Drifting Maiden for himself, after hearing so many tales of it in the many bars he frequented. He had known of the legend ever since he was but a little boy (**NB – Can you imagine Jack as a child? I'll bet he was a charmer, right from day one!)** and the myth had continued right up to the last bar he had visited in London. In every port, in every country he had travelled to, in every corner of the world, he had heard of the Drifting Maiden, in some form or the other, and now he was so close to discovering firsthand exactly what the story was behind the vessel and its damned crew.

Will suddenly leapt to the bow of the ship, and after regarding the ship's course for several moments, struggled back to Jack at the helm.

"Jack!" He bellowed, right next the captain's ear. Jack merely rolled his eyes in response.

"We're not heading towards Tortuga!" Will yelled hoarsely.

"Really?" Jack replied sarcastically.

"Why?" Jack made no other reply than to grimly grip the wheel more tightly. "You fool!" Will shouted. "You're steering the ship with the storm, not out of it."

"What remarkable insight you have there, young William." Jack snapped, all trace of composure vanishing. "Care to take the wheel?" He offered the spokes to Will, surrendering his grip on the wheel, which immediately began to spin and whir counter-clockwise at high-speed.

"I will, if that's what it takes to saves the lives of all these men." Will grabbed the polished wheel, but no sooner had his hands touched the spokes then the storm went eerily silent. Looming up on their port side was a ghostly apparition.

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**Gee, I wonder what this ship could be… **

**DCoD – I could never kill Will! Or Jack! It would be absolute blasphemy to even consider attempting it – completely against my morals and scruples and everything holy. (That being said, there's some really good FF's out there about that sort of thing. One FF I've read is about Jack haunting Commodore Norrington to get him to avenge his death – it's pretty short, but very sweet, called "_Until the Horizon_" by Snickerer. Just thought I'd mention it; I thought it was very well done.) **

**Wolf at Heart – Yes, I know I'm cruel, giving you all these cliff-hangers - this chapter's not much better, really. I'm going on holidays soon, back out West where I live, which means three weeks without internet connection, so you'd better hope I don't leave it at a cliff-hanger before I go… Though if I don't put in a cliff-hanger, I'm worried everyone will forget about my story, and that makes me sad :( - so I need something to keep you all interested! Treat 'em mean and keep 'em keen :) **

**Willowred – Yay! Another new reviewer!**

**Shadowicewolf – Yay! One of my very first reviewers returns! **

**Lonaargh – Fear not; your William is safe! Injured, tired and freezing cold, but he is, at least, alive! **


	21. Maiden's Pearl

**Apologies for the lateness of this chapter – it's raining outside and my arthritis is playing up. I know, I know; 16 years old and she has an old person's disease – how screwed up am I? **

**Just a word of warning; I'm on vacation in the sticks until the 25th (of July). That's _three_ weeks! Please, promise me you won't forget about my story :( No doubt you'll be too busy watching the second POTC movie, fantasising about Jack and Will, as I will be doing. However, it would really make my day if I came back to find I had 100 reviews. I think I would remain happy for the rest of the year, no, my entire life. I'll try to update during the holidays, but no promises – I have no internet connection. On the plus side, it's 3 uninterrupted weeks of me typing up more of the story, and maybe a few quick one-shots as well. Okay, so that's a bit of a consolation prize, but it's something.

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The ship was a translucent white, coated in a light frosting of ice that made it shimmer and glisten against the dark night. Almost luminescent from its frosty gleam, it was as if the whole ship had been painstakingly carved from ice; even the sails held a transparent sheen. Icicles hung like sharpened needles from the yard-arms and spars, and clung delicately to the lines and rigging. The ship was both beautiful in its fragility and menacing in its ethereal appearance.

The ship was now close enough for the crew to make out its name: _The Drifting Maiden_. While the rest of the crew shrunk back in fear and repulsion, Jack allowed himself the satisfaction of a small smirk. He had finally tracked down the _Drifting Maiden_, and now all there was left to do was draw out its cursed crew members. _Just to see if the legends are correct,_ Jack thought He had a score to settle with this ship… The damned vessel seemed to be intent on taking the _Black Pearl_ by force, and doing so without revealing a single crew-member on deck, much to Jack's annoyance. Somehow, the ship was being controlled and manipulated from below deck. Or perhaps - being a cursed ship - it required no other commands than to wreak as much havoc, bloodshed and revenge as possible.

In eerie silence she came about and presented her cannons, icicles snapping off and cannons rolling stiffly to their ports. Jack has still not yet ordered his crew to draw their cannons, and he was certain they were too stupefied and shocked to carry out his orders anyway. Even the most hardened of men were so awed and horrified by the sight of the _Drifting Maiden_ they were just going to stand there like stunned mullets and let themselves be slaughtered where they stood. Now Jack finally understood why the _Drifting Maiden_ had found it so easy in the past to board and massacre entire ships, and leave so much destruction and carnage in her wake.

It was in the eerie silence that Jack first heard it. Initially, he dismissed it as the wind beginning to pick up again, whistling through the sails and whipping around the ship. Then he began to make out a distinct repetition; a pattern, a tune. He thought perhaps somehow the _Drifting Maiden_, seemingly crafted or encased in pure ice, was responsible for emitting some sort of faint humming from its frozen hull. The humming grew shrill and piercing – almost unbearable in its rising magnitude – until most of the crew kneeled, doubled over in pain, clutching or tearing at their ears, trying to block out the agonizing wails and screams that penetrated their brain, echoing and reverberating until they felt they would surely go mad.

_My… Bonny… Where…is my….Bonny? … Bring…back my Bonny… bring him back…to me… _

Jack sunk to his knees as the song drifted around him, each word stabbing like knives, burning into his brain. As his pain increased, he felt the words grow stronger, becoming more potent, more forceful, more _demanding_ every time they were uttered, drawing strength from his agony. The words were meant to torture, to _tease_.

_J…Ja...ck… Jack…Jack…JACK!_

At the last word, a splitting pain shot through Jack's brain, the flash behind his eyes and the pressure in his skull almost blinding him. Through his agony, he looked up at the _Drifting Maiden_, determined to at least face his enemy like a man of honour and pride before it killed him. _I shouldn't have followed it,_ Jack thought in despair as he saw the ominous open cannon-ports of the _Drifting Maiden_ – so wide and hollow and pitiless. Jack had played with fire, and as a consequence, he got burned by the sparks. He just thought it was unfair his crew had to suffer under their captain's folly. He glanced up at the cursed ship one more time, as the pain erupted once more behind his eyes. He felt almost as if the ship was watching him with dark, soulless eyes, mocking him behind its frozen façade. Through the dimming of his mind, he could make out two burning red flickering embers, until he realised it was the ruby-red eyes of the figurehead leering out at him. As he gazed into the corpse's malevolent eyes, he felt the pure evil burning into his very soul, feeling the drop of his stomach and the jump as his heart skipped a beat. The eyes seemed to sparkle in recognition and derision.

_There you are, Jack…_

The spell was broken as a faint boomed echoed faintly through the silent yet still-pouring rain. The _Drifting Maiden_ had discharged only one cannon –one shot – intent on only one person. Jack. The scene seemed to slow down as the silvery-white cannonball barrelled through time and space. Jack saw the cannonball shatter each and every drop of rain, saw each turn and spin and revolution as it meticulously, painstakingly hurtled towards him. His dark eyes widened in fear and surprise, reflecting and replicating the image of the oncoming cannonball.

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**Is this the end for our roguish, charming, lovable hero? Just as one hero is saved, another is placed in peril.Ah, the life of a pirate. I know this is a really horrible cliff-hanger to leave you all with, especially if I may not be able to update for another three weeks. So don't forget me between now and then:) …(threatening) or Jack's wellbeing may be adversely affected…

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**Shadowicewolf – Hope you have fun at camp! I love camps… the only time and place where you're expected and encouraged to play up…lead people through poison ivy bushes, place horrible creepy-crawlies in various people's treasured possessions…good times…On the other subject you mentioned, despite this story's apparent minute popularity on I doubt publishers in the real world would ever consider printing a 16-year-old's pathetic tribute to Pirates of the Caribbean… it would be nice to be published one day, but realistically, I don't see it ever happening to me - not in this lifetime anyway. **

**Lonaargh – I think you jinxed me; just as you say I update quickly, I'm not able to update for three weeks. Oops…! **

**DCoD – Confrontation time, indeed it is. At the risk of spoiling the cliff-hanger, the next chapter's an anti-climax really. The Black Pearl is already badly damaged, and somehow she needs to limp to Tortuga, so she can't really afford to take on heavy losses in a full-frontal sea engagement with the Drifting Maiden.**

**Pebbles1234 – You're too generous with your reviews; you make me blush. I am not worthy; I don't deserve your kind words… Onto another subject: you wrote more to your story! Yay! Which makes me happy:D**


	22. Comparing Wounds

**I'm ba-ack – two new chapters to celebrate the end of the holidays - one dark chapter too. Thanks for all your patience and tolerance: and look – over 100 reviews! I seriously never would have thought. I did try to update over the holidays, but when I found a computer with internet, they had all sorts of gadgets connected to the USB port that I wasn't allowed to touch, because I'm a girl and would therefore automatically break everything I came in contact with.**

**Sorry for any typo's: too eager to post after 3 long weeks away!**

**So where were we: Jack, with a cannonball hurtling towards him fired by the Drifting Maiden - shame on all who thought I'd kill off the beloved Captain! Not my Jack! Not on my watch!

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The crew ducked, winced, shouted in terror and whimpered in fear. Only Will, being the closest, was galvanised to action. Recklessly he threw himself in the cannonball's churning path, knocking Jack over as they both tumbled to the _Black Pearl's_ decks. The snow-white cannon-ball slammed into the ship's wheel behind where Jack had previously stood. As soon as it made contact with the wheel, both it and the ghostly ship disappeared, along with the storm. The pirates blinked in the sudden daylight as the grey storm clouds rolled away in mere seconds. The steady and calm slap-slap-slap could be heard as the aquamarine waves gently lapped the side of the Black Pearl, and the masts all stood straight and tall, all ice melting and pooling at their feet. It was as if the storm had never been, apart from the looks of horror in the crew's eyes, and their bleeding and bruised limbs. The only other remain tribute to the Drifting Maiden's attack was the ship's wheel, which had been turned completely into ice, and now stood as a constant reminder of the ship's curse, gleaming unmelting under the Caribbean sun. Even many years later, the Black Pearl's still retains its ice-carved wheel, unscathed; the perfect ice statue. Another quirk of the Black Pearl; another story to be told in hushed voices around small tables in bars and taverns the world over. Will shuddered to think what would have happened to Jack, had that snow-white cannonball actually hit him.

"Now see what you've done." Jack snapped, looking like he could barely contain himself from shooting Will on the spot. He brushed himself down and stormed mysteriously off back into his cabin, and was not seen again for the entire day. The crew went back to work, uneasily silent as instead of scrubbing decks, they helped injured comrades into the hospital wing. Those more skilled amongst them aided the ship's doctor in administering varying degrees of aid. Alex helped the doctor prepare bandages, boil water and put the talents that all young girls learn to good use, neatly stitching gapping wounds. Will held some of the injured down as the doctor preformed more painful surgery and amputations. After all the injuries had been tended, Alex had sought him out with a bottle of rum in hand. They both collapsed onto the floor, leaning against a scuttlebutt that held the ship's drinking water. Due to the rain, the scuttlebutts were full to capacity, brimming with fresh water, that was to last the entire journey, mixed with rum when it got stale.

"Drink this." She stated forcefully, handing over the scratched bottle of dark rum. Will took a fortifying gulp.

"Good." Alex remarked. "Now, show me that scratch. I know about the one on your wrist, obviously; how about that one on your shoulder. Don't hide it – I can see by the way you're holding yourself that you've done something to hurt it." She snapped as Will opened his mouth to deny it. Admitting defeat, Will pulled back his open collar to reveal the cut.

Alex exhaled a low whistle, "Impressive." She conceded, "You really should get the doctor to take a look at it."

"He's got enough on his plate as it is," Will mumbled, "Other's are injured worse than I. And what about you?" Will hurriedly changed the subject. Something – a rope perhaps, or some splintered wood – had cut down diagonally down her right cheek, from just under her eye to underneath her ear. Will lightly traced a finger over it.

"It's a shallow cut, and you know it, William Turner. Stop changing the subject." Alex replied crossly, colouring in embarrassment and turning her head away.

"Yes, but we don't want to have that face of yours scarred." Will said jokingly, turning her once more to face himself. Their eyes caught, and Will found himself staring into Alex's dark-blue bottomless eyes, a hue that shifted between colours and intensity, like the ocean. Her eyes were like the open sea when the sunlight was shimmering off the waves; bright and dazzling, but at the same time you never knew what was underneath the surface.

Will felt Alex stiffen and pull away. Before he could react, Alex poured half the bottle of rum onto Will's lightly bleeding wound. Will sharply inhaled.

"Why the devil did you do that!" He demanded angrily.

"To stop blood poisoning." Alex replied calmly, taking a large gulp herself, "Seeing as you won't let the doctor see to it." She lurched to her feet and handing the half-full bottle over the Will, she remarked, "Cheers," before she wound her way around the inert bodies of sleeping and wounded men and disappeared. Will watched her disappear with mingled feelings. Obviously something had happened to Alex that she didn't feel like sharing. Swirling the cloudy rum in the bottle, Will contemplated the murky liquid. He'd just have to be patient…

That night, all sat around the big mess-table, stirring their spoons in their stew, cradling their mugs in their scarred hands, but none mentioned how Jack had purposefully put all their lives in danger, chasing a cursed storm and a ghost ship. No-one said any words, but all knew what each other were thinking. Except Will, and maybe Gibbs, who stared into the bottomless-depths of their murky-brown ale, thoughts on the same topic as all others assembled, but yet so far removed from their train of thought. Will knew Jack much better than others; he was not as much awed by Jack as the rest of the crew, but he still retained a healthy respect for his Captain. And as for Gibbs, well, he knew the truth behind all the legends surrounding Jack; he'd been present for the creation of most of them. And the truth behind the myth was often more intriguing than the actual legend itself.

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**Next update: dark chapter - Jack drowns himself... in memories and emotions that is. hehehe. I keep on telling you, I won't kill him. Yet...**

**So I saw the next Pirate movie today, finally, as soon as I was back in civilisation. I'm not that impressed really. It didn't have that same feeling as the first – it was…forgettable. Not as funny as the first, or even as the trailers for the second. They reintroduced old characters that frankly, I thought could have stayed dead and buried, and then the directors forced them to act differently. Norrington, for example, gave the impression of an uptight ass at first, but in the end you understood him as a generally good person who thought beyond his own satisfaction and personal gains. In the next movie he's back to being all self-involved again. And they STOLE MY IDEAS. They were so channelling me with Will hanging from the yard-arm and the slashing of the sail and I WAS GOING TO USE THE BLACK SPOT! (Wah, sob). Except I was going to use it the proper way, from Treasure Island, with the Bible and all. Damn it, I still will. Grrrr. Nasty people, plundering my brain, not that I can prove it or anything. The script-writer and I just must think alike, 's all. **

**I didn't write much more of the story over the holidays; too busy working. But I'm fabricating the bad dude's ship. Let's just say, it can match the Drifting Maiden in the looks department. And evil-ness too. And I came up with some concepts of possibly a sequel, if this ever gets finished. Or I can change it to a short story if I run out of pep. I probably just bored the ever-loving hell out of you all, but just thought I'd keep you up-to-date. **


	23. My Bonny

So where were we? Ah yes, Jack storms off to his quarters in a huff after Will saves his life. Seems Captain Jack has a lot on his mind… Ah...Memories…

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**Jack slouches in his leather-studded easy chair nailed down to the boards of the Black Pearl. His mahogany study desk sits an arm's distance away on his right with his peacock quill and ink bottle laid out in readiment. His beloved scuffed pirate trunk, filled with the ill-gotten gains of over a decade, sits at the base of his unmade bed. A hammock swings gently in the corner, should he prefer it to his bed. Oilskin maps and ancient tribal masks dot the walls in a patchwork of browns, tans and blacks. Every spare inch of surface space is covered with collected trinkets; sea shells and stones, rusting compasses and sextants. What appears to be a very small, rusty and barnacle-crusted anchor sits in a darkened corner, keeping its secrets to itself. **

**His entire cabin is a museum, a display. Collections and memories of countries and people, past and present combined into one small room. Jack surveys his cabin, his domain, his territory. He pulls his silver-inlaid pistol out of his sash, and loads a single bullet into the chamber. His dark eyes contemplate the weapon, held out at arms length. Squinting his eyes in defiance, he sits the pistol on his knee and slouches even further into the padded chair; getting comfortable. Jack gazes out the opened window into the glittering night; the stars magnified and highlighted by the blackness of the sea underneath. "Come and get me." Jack growls to the empty night. **

**They come for him. In the blackness of the night, in the cover of darkness, under the guise of a dream, they seek him out. Jack rolls and thrashes, caught deep in the throes of the dream, that in fact, resonates with truth. As he tosses and turns, the pistol slides off his lap and clatters to the floor. **

**He stands ankle deep in the bilge water, surrounded by calico bags of flour, barrels of gunpowder and other supplies. Bodies litter the floor, their blood mingling with the dirtied water lapping over his boots. All around him is the smell of acrid smoke, the burning of discharged gunpowder and the metallic smell of blood. Hysterical shouts of the dying men above deck filter back to his ears, but he heeds them not. His eyes are on one thing only. In front of him is a small cell, the heavy iron door smashed open, hanging precariously and lopsidedly off its hinges. The ship gives a lurch and begins to angle to the port side. Water gushes around his calves, its force almost knocking him to his knees. But he cares not, he stares unwaveringly ahead, to the figure in the cell. There, hanging limply against the wall, chains ensnaring wrists and shackles wrapped around ankles, is a woman. He rushes blindly towards her, heart in his throat, tears in his eyes. **

"**Cassie! Cassandra!" He cries, reaching out to the lifeless form. She drops into his arms; deadweight. He sinks to his knees in the fetid water, smoothing the hair off his beloved's face. He kisses her throat, her cheeks, her lips; anything to give her life again. "Cassie," he murmurs against her neck. His body is racked by sobs, his trembling arms hold her close to his heart. If only his heart could warm her own. "Cassandra, it's okay; I'm here now."**

"**Cassie, wake up."**

"**Wake up, Cassie."**

"**Cassie, I came to save you. I found you Cassie."**

"**It'll be alright now, my love. We're together again."**

"**Cassie dear, come on. Wake up. Wake up."**

"**Please wake up. Please?"**

"**Cassie?"**

"**CASSIE!" **

**Her eyes remain closed, as if in peace, but he knows her last hours were pure agony; torture. And he didn't get there in time to prevent it. He was too late. Tears from his own eyes glide down his roughened cheek, dropping onto her pale, pale face. Water rushes over him still, engulfing him, lapping around him, pulling him down. **

"**No!" He cries, struggling up with his love in his arms. He staggers to his feet, but the force of the water drives him back to his knees. Water rushes over his head, but he still clings tight to his beloved. She will never leave his arms again. He refuses to give in, he refuses to leave his love. He won't leave her. He lost her once, he won't do it again. He was meant to protect her. He was meant to save her. **

**_I failed_, Jack whispers in his sleep, as the tremors that shook his lean frame subside. A solitary tear slides down his cheek. _Forgive me._ **


	24. Persephone

**Just a quick one, my apologies. I have a cold, so lots of pain and general crabbiness. Words do not make sense to me at present. Hopefully there's not too many mistakes in this one, but it wouldn't surprise me if there were. I'll come back and re-edit when I feel better.

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**

The remainder of the trip to Tortuga's port was uneventful, as Jack appeared the next day as if nothing had happened, and all the crew obligingly followed his orders without complaint, as they had sworn to do.

"Miss Alex, he woulda had his reasons." Gibbs had explained as he and Jimbilly Jackson were showing Alex the finer points of the working of the ship, and attempting to repair the ship and bring her into Tortuga at the same time. "It's always a difficult crossing for him, this one. I haven't gotten much out of him, but I'd say before he was Captain of the Pearl, he had himself a bonny-lass." Here Gibbs sighed. "And lasses on board always lead to no good."

"Why?" Alex questioned, stung.

"'S just, Jack, he feels things more deeply than most. From what I've gathered, things didn't end well for Jack and his bonny-love. Pirating ships are dangerous places, Miss Alex; don't be fooled inta thinkin' they be anything else. The first time I met Jack was when he was on a small runner called the '_Persephone_.' Attacked by pirates it was, and they be after one thing; booty. Jack's bonny lass was included in the haul. I don't know exactly how she died, but Jack, he blames himself, I can tell. We found him - when I was crewing on a small merchant runner meself - 'alf drowned he was, floating in the shoals off this little tropical island all the rest of his crew was marooned on. We dove in and pulled him out, but he caught one of those tropical diseases, like so many of the crew did – only, I reckon he caught it on purpose so he could join his Cassie in the afterlife. But I nursed him back – took me a full month – coz he's a handy lad to have about, that Jack, and I didn't want him throwing his life away like that, when he was so young. I told him that's what Cassie would have wanted likewise, and he just went all quiet for days. Never quite been the same since; sticks only to fast women and loose cannons. He can't stand to be close to anyone else. He blames himself, and has learnt the hard way that the sea and lasses just don't mesh." Here Gibbs glanced pointedly at Alex, "So, just go easy on him, Miss Alex. There's a lot about Cap'an Jack you don't know." He adjusted the Fore-top sail as if it settled the matter.

Alex decided not to question Jack's actions any further, as Joshamee Gibbs was the most senior member of the crew who had been on Jack's crew since Jack first became a pirate. But Alex still regarded Jack warily when she saw his silhouette at the wheel, the sun setting poetically behind him.

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**NB – the 'Persephone' ship is named after the Greek Goddess of the same name. I was looking up the history behind this goddess, and it's eerily fitting to the story. Persephone is often referred to simply as "The Maiden," or mistress of the underworld. I sort of wish I knew that before I named "The Drifting Maiden." Another story is she fought Aphrodite over the possession of a man (hint – plotline).

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**

**In response to reviewers, I concede: perhaps I was too harsh on Dead Man's Chest. It's just, the first movie was sooooo good, and I think it will take me some time to warm up to this one. But it just annoyed me how they recycled the same characters, jokes etc. The plot was really good, however. **

**Next chapter: More set-backs - reintroduction of an afore-mentioned bad-guy.**


	25. The French Connection

**Internet shut itself off for two days before school decided it was worth fixing. Sincerest apologies (again). Just a warning: I'm attempting to write some dialogue in another language (which I clearly shouldn't try after my failed attempt for one German sentence in that chapter that time. Horrible memories) I'm really sorry if it doesn't make sense to you lucky bi-lingual people out there, but it was translated from a cheap online site; I did my best, so blame them for the rest. I put a translation in the story, in case it's that bad you have no grasp on what I'm trying to say.

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**

"Land-Ho!" Called Alex from the Crows Nest. There was a momentary paused before, "Ship-Ho! She's coming about, and she doesn't look happy, Captain!" Alex cried out.

Jack, standing once more by the wheel, rolled his eyes in annoyance and turned to Will.

"Pray tell me, have you made any enemies of late?"

"No." Will replied perplexed.

"Ah." Jack turned back to contemplating the languidly approaching ship. He spun back to Will, "Have I?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

Jack frowned, picked up his spy-glass and searched the offending vessel until he found what colours they were flying.

"Alright you lot of mangy curs - hoist the flag quick-smart!" Jack bellowed to the crew, "We're noble citizens of France these days." He declared, strolling down to the main deck and planting himself in the middle of the deck with a challenging air. "You sail under the command of Capitaine Jacques Le'Sparrow, and those of you who can't be trusted to remember that name shall be referring to me as 'Shock.' Or anyone else who can't trust themselves to say anything that sounds remotely French. Alex, you brushed up on your skills?"

"Oui." Alex called down from the Crows Nest.

"Well, don't do it up there!" Rang out a call from Salt Peter, who was at the tiller. Alex aimed and dropped something very large and heavy at his head. She uttered something that Will thought sounded like 'Bon Appetite."

"Nice shot." Will heard Jack mutter under his breath as Will walked over to the eagle-spread Salt Peter. Unfortunately for the Helmsman, her aim was true and he spent the rest of the time in French waters unconscious in his hammock, with a rather large egg on his head.

"Here she comes." Jack muttered as the French vessel bore down on them. "I hope you have a loud voice!" He called up to Alex, but she was already swinging recklessly down on a loose rope. Several crew members drew in a quick breath as she hurdled towards a mast. Several crew members (including Will) almost had a heart attack as she let go of the rope, dropped a good two feet, gripped another suspended rope and swung down onto the deck. "Rope burn." She muttered as she blew her reddened hands and tucked them under her armpits, trying to stifle the pain. Though she was wearing tattered canvas gloves - of sorts - that covered her palm but left the back of her hand and her fingers free for movement, it didn't stop the friction and the heat.

"Was that skylarking really necessary?" Jack asked, a small smile playing over his face at her recklessness.

"Cut me some slack, _Jacq_; I just learned to do that." She grinned proudly. "Besides, our _guests_ appear to be in a hurry, so I decided not to delay the proceedings." Alex replied cheekily. True to her summarisation –

"Sous quel est le nom du capitaine que vous naviguez?" Came the irritated call of the French crewman. (_What is the name of the captain you sail under_?) Despite Jack's orders to remain inconspicuous, the entire crew stopped working to follow the conversation, although precious few could understand what was being said. Luckily Jack's clothing did not mark him out as the captain, or it would be him that the questions would be rapidly fired at. Will noted that Jack had surreptitiously taken off his tricorn captain's hat and eased away into the crowd.

"Capitaine Jacques Le'Sparrow." Alex bellowed over the still water, but the officers did not look convinced.

"Vous volez le drapeau français, pourtant votre bateau a l'air de la marque anglaise. Etes-vous français?" (_You fly the French flag, yet your ship looks like English design. Are you French?)_

"Français?" Replied Alex flawlessly. "Oui!" She said in outrage. (_French? Yes!_)

"l'idiot peut être un perroquet et répète que je dit. Prouver vous être le français!" He demanded. (_Any fool can be a parrot and repeat what I say. Prove yourself to be French!)_

"Non parley vous francais." Alex replied back smoothly. (_You can't speak French_.)

"M'excuser!" Came the shocked voice of a very confused Commodore. (_Excuse me!)_

"Pouvez-vous moi recommander quelque bon champagne?" (_Can you recommend to me some good champagne?)_

"Quel est le sens de ceci!" Spluttered the outraged naval officer, his eyes bulging widely (and in a _very_ unattractive manner, Alex noted with deep satisfaction). (_What is the meaning of this?)_

"Peut-être vous me comprenez mal. Peut-être tout vous buvez après le dîner est la pisse de cochon, vous la grosse grenouille pompeuse." Alex replied sincerely. (_Perhaps you misunderstand me. Maybe all you drink after dinner is pig piss, you pompous fat frog.)_

Jack - whose speaking of French was a little rusty, but whose understanding was excellent - was having a difficult time keeping an impassive face as he leant nonchalantly against a mast. Will looked baffled until another crew member with fairly limited French skills roughly translated what Alex had said, between fits of laughter. After the whispered translation, Will snorted in disbelief and sheer wonder at Alex's audacity. Telling a French Officer he couldn't speak French. Alex was going to get herself in deep trouble, and she wasn't wearing any dresses to help her out this time. She looked like any other crew member. He watched for the officer's reaction warily.

The Commodore decided that a retreat was the best approach to handle the bizarre situation being played out impertinently in front of his incredulous eyes. He disappeared off deck, only to emerge seconds later with another crew member.

"Do you speak English?" Asked the weedy man in heavily accented French, addressing Alex.

"No, I do not speak English." Alex called back in perfect English, glad to be able to speak her native tongue. French required delicate tongue and throat movements, which was difficult to achieve when you were yelling yourself hoarse over water. "Do _you_ speak French, otherwise we're damned well in the wrong bloody place." Alex inquired cheerfully.

"I thought you said you couldn't speak English?" Replied the interpreter, a smirk over his dark features.

"I can't," Alex replied back straight-faced, "I only know how to say, '_I do not speak English'_ in English."

"Well, comprehend this; you are under arrest."

"Finally; a sentence that doesn't end in a question -Monsieur, may _I _now take the liberty of interrogating _you_?" Alex plowed on without a concern as to the Frenchman's answer, "What has this noble, loyal, patriotic French crew done wrong, apart from not speaking English?" Alex guestured behind her, to the stunned pirates who took their cue and hastily grinned in what was meant to be a non-threatening smile of good-will. With their rotting teeth and straggly beards however, it didn't score them many points with the French.

"You are a potential threat to the French government." The Frenchman continued unyeildingly.

"And who are you to arrest us?" Alex cried. "You're not the navy! What authority do you have in challenging us?"

All the crew on the French ship drew their pistols and muskets and cocked them menacingly at Alex.

"Aha. That kind of authority."

Jack, Will, Alex and the rest of the crew raised their hands slowly above their heads as the French men boarding, their blades and guns still drawn.

"Come on Jack, it was obvious that they were out to pick a fight anyway." Alex complained out of the corner of her mouth. Jack just rolled his eyes as he allowed himself to be bound and trussed by the French.

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**So what is to happen to the loyal crew of the Black Pearl? Judging by their inability to make port, perhaps they still be under a curse; pure and simple Bad Luck. And who be Jack's new enemy that he is to meet with? Or perhaps the enemy is actually the nemesis of another aboard the Black Pearl? (I have hinted at one of the perpetrators, waaaaay back near the start of the FF)

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**So hello, my fellow motley crew! I'm still a tad under the weather, so I'll hastily type some feverish gibberish then alas, retire for the evening. I just popped on the 'net, and lo and behold; possibly the most flattering reviews ever written in all time have sprouted and flourished in my inbox, although I still feel my work does not merit such high praise and commendation. Regardless, those reviews cheered me up splendidly, especially as recently I have been feeling as if my work is lacking; to me it seems boring and lacklustre. I've been reading a crime book (of all things) by Kathy Reichs, and she is a master of similes and metaphors, which reminded me to include a few more of the sort to colour my FF. I shall endeavour to accomplish just that, in the accompanying few chapters.**

**On a moreserious note: just a brief note of wonder; I'm so happy so many people are taken with Alex; I thought perhaps she'd be seen as an annoyance, an outsider or a Mary Sue. I'm glad so many like and identify with her character. Yay; no-one hates me! No-one thinks I butchered up the POTC characters! Happy! And now to answer reviews…

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**Pebbles1234 – yay! You're back! I thought maybe my FF was getting too boring for everyone, so I lost a few reviewers. But perhaps not, as you are back! **

**DCoD – I _love_ Greek mythology. Any culture's myths and legends, really. There's so much history, and truth behind them; and often the situations and events and message still applies to modern society, even now. However, I think the Persephone will just be a passing reference; a fleeting mention. Perhaps not. (shrugs) We'll see, I guess…**

**FastFuriousChick – yay! A new reviewer! I admire your dedication in reading this for 3 and a half hours; I'm just flabbergasted someone would set aside several hours of their valuable time to read something I wrote. (overwhelmed) I'm also flattered you want me to help you co-author your first FF! I've never co-written before, but I must warn you, I'm in the last semester of year 12, so I'm trying to focus on studies (grrr; assignments). The only reason I update my DM FF so much is it's mostly pre-written. Once I come to the end of the pre-written story, my updates will be much less (sorry all). However, I'd be thrilled to help you:) At present though I'd only be good at editing (grammar etc; not too good on the spelling, as doubtless you can tell from the state of my FF), and perhaps suggesting some plot-lines, using your suggestions and ideas. And colouring the storyline somewhat; metaphors, specific detail, similes etc. So I fear the majority of the workload would fall on you, to determine characters, general or specific plotlines and the basic text – for this, of course, you can publish the FF in your own name, seeing as you'd be doing the majority of the workload :) Sorry if that doesn't work for you, but my parent's would kill me if I didn't get into the university they want! (trembles in fear of their wrath; I don't want to be a homeless drop-out) Let me know if you still want me to help co-author. By the tone of your review, you seem very funny and well-written and expressive; it'd be an honour! **


	26. The Tavern

**Big 'sorry' – the internet problem is still not resolved and its status is, as yet, in limbo. No where were: Jack, Will and Alex, being trussed and bound for an unknown reason, held captive by the French.

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The rest of the crew were left on the Black Pearl, muted in their fear - save for muffled muttering, their whispers sounding like dry leaves scraping down a deserted road - and were firmly locked into the ship's brig. A few crew members had forcefully resisted being herded downstairs into the iron cells, and they were nursing all manner of bloody noses and broken bones. Jack surreptitiously tried to blend in with his crew and head into the brigs with them. Jack was not a coward by nature, but as the Captain, he ate the same rations as them, drank the same stale water mixed with rum, wore the same clothes as them, and got into the same scrapes as them. Savvy? Captain or not, Jack's policy was: in for a penny, out for a pound.

As Jack pushed his way down the dark hold with the rest of the pirates, he felt a neck-jerking tug on his plaited hair. Turning around with difficulty, he noted one of the Frenchman had a firm grasp on one of his dread-locks. Annoyed, Jack tried to swat his hand away.

"Back here," The Frenchman sneered, hauling Jack back up on deck by his hair. Stumbling, Jack emerged back on the polished decks of the Black Pearl, blinking in the glaring light cast off by the waves. He noted Will and Alex were already singled out and pressed into a tight circle, with all manner of guns, cutlasses and other pirating paraphernalia pointed their way menacingly.

"You three are wanted in town." Said the Frenchman in heavily afflicted English, as he relinquished control of Jack's hair. He was a rather brawny man, with black hair, a crooked large nose and broad shoulders with no neck.

"I don't understand." Alex spat stubbornly, her flinty grey eyes screwed up in anger. She was still wearing normal sailor's slops and appeared decidedly male, so Jack surmised they hadn't singled her out because she was female. Alex's comment was directed at their less-than-civil welcome by the invading French, but the Frenchman took to interpret her words as a continuation of her mockery, pretending that she didn't speak English.

The Frenchman sighed in annoyance, "I fear that joke is growing old." He stated, and without further warning sent a round-house hurtling towards Alex. Surprised, Alex managed to move her head so that the blow didn't break her jaw or loosen teeth, but it caught her just below her eye. Stunned by the force of the blow, Alex swayed, almost dropping to her knees, but caught herself just in time. Will immediately surged forward to attack the Frenchman, but Jack pulled him back before he could impale himself on the French crew's bayonets.

"Don't be rash, lad." Jack muttered as he restrained Will. Will took no heed of Jack's words and struggled harder,

"They hit her! For no good reason!"

"You'll blow her cover, fool." Jack hissed in warning. Will immediately stopped fighting to escape Jack's clutches, but looked loathe to do so. "Smart lad."

Marching grudgingly through town, no-one gave the troupe a second glance. In merry London, three decidedly pirate looking rogues roped together and manhandled cursingly through the crowed streets would have caused traffic to stop. But then again, Will surmised, Tortuga is a pirating cove. This sort of debauchery is expected to occur. Encouraged, even. However, get a proper gentleman and lady decked out in their Sunday finest strolling casually down the main thoroughfare of Tortuga – that would attract stares.

Will risked glancing around at the town. It was madness, wholly and completely. Will construed Tortuga was like the larger version of a perfect pirate ship. Taverns and pubs had a person flying out their windows so constantly Will was surprised the owners even bothered to place glass in the window-panes at all. Mind you, with the amount of gold pirates squandered on rum and other alcoholic beverages, Will knew he shouldn't be shocked. Tavern owners could well afford to repair every fixed window in their establishment, and glaze them in gold.

Rum and ale sat in barrels outside pubs and inns, cracked open with their contents brimming out over the sides and running into frothy rivulets onto the muddied ground. Prostitutes sashayed unashamedly down the crowded streets, with their rich coloured clothing and revealing necklines, simply laughing unabashed as they were cursed at and propositioned by passing gentlemen of fortune. Will knew if you went into the more darker side-streets of Tortuga's main road (to ruin), you'd find lot more than what was carried on in broad daylight.

Tortuga consisted only of grimy inns, taverns, hostels, more 'pleasurable' establishments, pubs, gambling centres and musty cobwebbed treasure trading shops, where gold and silver coins were exchanged for gemstones, antiquities and plundered loot traded, and oilskin pirate maps (some precious few which actually revealed locations of anything valuable) sold and bought. Will was tempted to walk into one such treasure horde, named '_Silk Road Sales; treasure from far and near_,' just to gaze ardently at the sheer amount of treasure piled up in every corner and crevice of the shop, but he was discouraged by a sharp jab from the butt of a French pirate's rifle – for Will had concluded they were definitely pirates – and stumbled on.

"Wouldn't have gone in there anyway." Jack murmured from the corner of his mouth.

"Why?" Will whispered back.

"Rob you blind." Jack muttered back. "Nothing real of value in the shop." He added.

"Have you been in there?" Will asked, intrigued.

"Many times." Jack replied with conviction. Will nodded, accepting his answer, until he realised,

"I thought you said they only sold junk in the shop?" Will remarked, confused.

"Aye." Jack replied simply. "I said what's in the store is mere trinkets. The quality stuff's kept under the shop."

"So why haven't you gone in there of late?" Will wished Jack had told him about this shop – he was dying to get himself a cutlass with some impressive jewels set into the hilt like he had glimpsed briefly in the store's front. Now that was the work of one talented blacksmith…

"Because," Jack explained impatiently, "I didn't exactly pay the last time I visited."

Will chuckled at Jack's audaciousness, and Jack smiled at the memory of his audaciousness, but Alex remained stony-faced. Will briefly gazed at her, their eyes meeting. Alex gave not inclination she could even see him; her eyes just stared straight past him blankly. It was then that Will noted how tense she was. Alex was nervous. When Will pointed this out to Jack, he just shrugged.

_Of course she bloody-well should be,_ he thought, _she's a lamb amongst lions. One false move, one giveaway, and she's the next piece of treasure for some depraved pirate captain's horde. _It was for this reason that Jack didn't envy women pirates. Men, when captured by the enemy, were often just shot. Killed outright, easy as that. Just a bang, a flash and a smoking gun and you were gone. But women often got a lot more before they were killed. Jack's eyes slitted in anger. It wouldn't happen to Alex. It wouldn't happen again. Not this time. Last time he was too late. Last time…

"Alright you lot." The Frenchman stated, heaving open the heavy iron door of some dank, murky inn. "Bon voyage," He smiled, pushing the tethered three inside. Jack, Will and Alex struggled to keep their footing. Jack noted the inn was empty; the candles were unlit, with the yellowed wax dripping in stalactites and forming waxy pools under the brackets onto the scuffed, worn floor. Several floorboards were rotted and broken, and cobwebs hung in whispers in the rafters. Lopsided tables and broken chairs lay scattered around the room, some resting neatly on top of the tables, some thrown any which way across the floor. The bar held a few broken bottles of an assortment of alcohol, but the floor in front of it was littered with shattered glass. This inn had been cleaned out long ago, and was definitely no longer in business.

"Welcome." Stated the vaguely familiar voice. Jack whipped his head around, his dark eyes adjusting to the gloom first. He caught a glint of light reflecting off a cutlass and ducked out of the way as the silver metal rushed past his head.

He felt his ropes slacken, and noticed that whoever was behind the sword had freed them. Jack knew he should feel relief, but he didn't. They were unarmed. The other man had a cutlass. And he knew how to use it.

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**Next week: Know Thine Enemy.

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**Sorry I couldn't reply to reviews: rush to get this updated before internet stops working again**


	27. Montana

Face hidden by the shadow cast from a dark hat, and the dimness of the unlit inn, the stranger took a rickety seat by a scarred uneven table. Jack could tell by the man's limberness that he was no old sea-dog: so who was he? The Captain of the Black Pearl scanned the room, looking for a means of escape. He had no doubt the heavy iron door which they had just unceremoniously entered from had been locked and barred.

"You need not bother," The man chuckled as he leant back arrogantly on his stool. "The only people in this homely little inn are you, your friends and little old me." His white teeth gleamed untrustingly through the shadows the covered his face. Jack, Will and Alex alike looked sceptical and unconvinced of the stranger's statement. "Would I lie to you?" He asked them innocently. Alex felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle. He was lying. The stranger wasn't the only source of ill-will in the dingy stale old bar, and Alex wasn't the only one who could feel the foul stench of menace, fetidly swirling through the heavy air of the tavern.

As if noticing Alex's discomfort, the man smiled more broadly and gestured for them to join him. "Take a seat." He motioned condescendingly, directing his comment at Alex.

"On principle, I don't take liars at their word, nor face value." Alex replied shortly, rudely refusing the intimidating stranger's falsely-polite offer. Jack saw the man's smile tighten slightly. Faster than lightening, the man pulled out a gold inlayed pistol from his belt and levelled it at Alex. Taking a step back in alarm, Alex stiffened as she felt a hand as strong and as cold as iron clamp around her neck. The hostile stranger leaned back in his seat in contentment once again, his smile hitched back in place.

"So maybe I lied." He smirked, "Take a seat." It was a demand now, not a request.

"No." Will replied stubbornly. He was cut short as Alex gave a sharp intake of breath. Jack and Will turned hastily to see Alex being lifted off the ground by the hand still clamped tightly around the back of her neck. As the owner of the giant hand stepped out of the shadows for a better grasp on the squirming Alex, Will's eyes widened in shock and recognition. The giant hand - that had firm purchase around Alex's neck – was in direct proportion to the rest of it's body; the man stood almost seven feet tall. He was, in every sense of the word, a giant. The same giant that Jack had refused to hire at the docks at the beginning of their journey. The same giant who resented that a woman was allowed a position on the Black Pearl, when he was not. Who could easily reveal Alex for what she was, or snap her neck in two if he so felt the need. The giant Will had sworn he would protect Alex from, but here she was, dangling two feet off the ground in a strangle-hold, her life awaiting the command of the dark stranger perched so jauntily on a seat in front of them.

"Put Alex down!" Will demanded.

"I'll not ask you again; take a seat." The man snapped, "You are in no position to be making demands; consequently it is within your best interests and your comrades if you seat yourself." Will cast a glance at Alex. She was resolutely not making a sound, but Will could see her eyes were wide in fear and pain. Will hurriedly took a seat next to Jack.

"Release him." The man told the giant sharply.

"We have unfinished business." The giant growled, but revealed nothing about Alex's true gender.

"Settle your spats later." The stranger demanded. The giant stormed over to Will and Jack and dropped Alex bodily back down in an available chair. Alex massaged her neck, glowering at the stranger and the giant, who had once more retreated into the shadows, probably awaiting further orders from his master.

The stranger carried on as if nothing had happened, "Gents, may I introduce to you Montana, the finest crew member I have ever had the fortune of employing. All thanks to you, Cap'an Jack." The stranger tipped his hat to Jack mockingly. Jack merely regarded the man with his eyes dark and unreadable.

"Aye, that's the rube." Jack replied calmly after a moment. Silence filled the room for several minutes.

"So tell me what it is that you're after." Jack finally inquired civilly.

"Why, I'm here as a loyal comrade, to warn a fellow comrade." The man replied incredulously, like kidnapping people to have a chat with them was an every day occurrence.

Jack propped his booted feet up on the table.

"So what's in the wind?" He asked nonchalantly.

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**Oh, I am evil. Muahahaha: still not mention of the stranger's identity, but at least someone's been revealed. Next chapter: the stranger and his purpose.

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**

**Jacquelyn Sparrow****– I can't find your story. Are you writing under a different username, or maybe I'm just technologically illiterate. And no Jack death, you insecure people. Not yet, anyway.**

**DCoD – Was it who you thought it would be?**

**FastFuriousChick – yay! You're not mad at me! I was worried you would think… I dunno, that I'm slack and lazy or something…like that…I guess…**

**Pebbles1234 – Your reviews maketh me blusheth, as usual. **

**Willowred – Many thanks:)**

**Cuilean uasal – perhaps you're not looking for the baddie in the right places ;) Or should I say the wrong places, as that's where baddies generally hang out**


	28. Stones and Diamonds

The stranger leant in eagerly, the shadows engulfing his face entirely, so all that they could see was snatches of a gleaming tooth when he spoke. "Well, a little story got around to me about this noble-lady you were ferrying across to the Africas." He replied in conspirator tones. It took every ounce of willpower Will owned not to glance at Alex. Jack was caught off-balance for several moments. Alex had invented that story as a cover, trying to keep them out of trouble. It hadn't really worked as well as hoped, but it kept them alive. Until now…

"Aye?" Jack finally voiced.

"Word's got around that you've been harbouring a fugitive. Your cargo is on the run from marital commitment. They've currently got the entire English Navy out looking for her."

"Why?" Will cut in.

"Because," the informant explained patiently, "they believe you, being alleged pirates, have taken off with Mr Lafew's fiancée, as dastardly pirates do, and they're scouring the seven seas looking to return her." Jack hadn't believed that Alex had been telling the truth when she'd made up that story for the Navy. But that would explain so many things; the way the story slipped off her tongue like the truth, her knowledge of manners and etiquette at the Navy ball, the reception they received when they boarded…

"And your information comes from?" Jack asked resignedly.

"Straight from the horse's mouth," The stranger grinned, a diamond embedded into his tooth glinting, and slipped his hat off his head. Vice-Admiral Stone from the ball at the navy ship stared back at them. "Your precious employer has been leading you off the garden path, Captain Sparrow. She's using you, and when she gets caught, it'll be your head on the chopping block. It always happens that way." He trailed off sadly.

"I'm doing nothing of the sort!" Alex shouted, jumping to her feet. Stone glanced at her, then did a double-take, looking taken back.

"Why, even better; she's here in person." He recovered, "Forgive me, my lady, I didn't recognise you there for a second. Montana, what a pleasant… surprise." His words seemed to Jack to hold a more sinister, double meaning, but Alex merely snorted derisively in a very unlady-like manner.

"Now, that's not very becoming," Stone lectured, "If I were you, I wouldn't spend anymore time around this crowd; bad habits tend to rub off onto the impressionable."

"I'll spend my time how I like, with whom I like. I'm nobody's claim." Alex snarled.

"Essentially, Alexandria, you are. Mr Lafew has paid the dowry, and fifteen thousand pounds is quite a large sum to forfeit."

Will spluttered in surprise; fifteen thousand was more than anyone in London would make in a year. For Lafew to buy Alex for that amount, she'd be almost royalty. Or the man was very rich. Jack was also doing the same calculations, but they ran more along the lines of, _Well Jack Sparrow, this is a quandary and a half. You are in more trouble than a whore with the clap. _

Vice Admiral Stone continued, "If I were you, Miss Alexandria, I'd make haste straight to Africa and stop sculling around pirating ports such as these. You never know who might get the wrong idea…" He trailed off. Jack stiffened slightly. Stone was hinting he knew exactly what Jack did for a living. Harbouring a run-away fiancée worth 15,000 was forgivable. No worries, slap on the wrist and off you went on your merry way. Try to steal one measly piece-of-eight however, and it was all 'hang the bloody pirate.'

"Is that a threat?" Alex asked, her voice lowered dangerously. Stone laughed amiably.

"Certainly not my fair lady; you're old enough to judge for yourself. It's just, if word got out about your… escapades, you may find it difficult to ensure the marriage remains on schedule. You certainly have your fiancée in an anxious state, which, may I add, is not very courteous, while you're flouncing around on some common trader." Jack breathed a sigh of relief – the Navy was still oblivious to what the Black Pearl did as an occupation, exactly. His crew was safe. His ship was safe. They were safe.

Will could hold his tongue no longer. Now it had been established that Stone was not lusting after their blood or revenge from some misdeed they had unwittingly afflicted on him, Will could see no harm in speaking his mind, "How exactly does this concern us?" He asked. After seeing Stone's raised eyebrow, he hastily re-worded his question, "What I meant to say was: we're getting her to Africa; we were just delayed by a storm. It happens all the time so why is Lafew so concerned?"

Stone tipped back his seat as he contemplated Will's question, and gathered his thoughts on how best to answer, "Obviously, Mr Lafew is concerned about his bride-to-be's welfare; he is well aware that ocean voyages take considerable and varying times, but as the concerned man he is, he is naturally anxious about any delays to proceedings. Anything can occur on an open sea, and Mr Lafew is well aware of the dangers of travelling over water. Storms, leaks, pirates…" Was it Jack's imagination, or did Stone emphasise the word 'pirates' just a little too much?

Jack decided he'd had enough. He'd heard all he needed to know: they were in a mild spot of bother with the law. What good pirates weren't? Jack, Alex and Will would board the Black Pearl,where Jack would worm the real story out of Alex. He had no intention of delivering Alex into a marriage she obviously loathed, but he'd need to gauge the danger of keeping her aboard. She may have to go into hiding somewhere for a while. Additionally, no doubt Stone would be watching every move he made to ensure Alex got to her desired destination; if the Vice Admiralof the Navy was around, the entire Naval Fleet couldn't be far away. No doubt the only reason they hadn't had a cannon-blazing attack to thieve Alex back to the Navy was the risk that they might harm her while undertaking the operation. Jack took this as a warning; 'T_he Navy is onto you'_. Jack shrugged. Captain Jack Sparrow was used to warnings. He just wasn't used to heeding them.

But in the next few minutes, the situation got so much more complicated and out of hand. The warning signs were there, if he'd chosen to heed them… In later days, Jack would kick himself for his handling of the whole affair.

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**Hey gang. This chapter and the next one or two may be a bit slow. I'm filling in background information on Alex's history etc. Answering a few questions, back-tracking, and tying up a few loose ends of this story arc, before a new plotline – yay! After these boring chapters, I'll throw in a dark one. I think I said somewhere along the way they'd be a new ship that was mean nasty. I just have to try to slot it in somewhere. Over the rainbow.**


	29. Like a Bat out of Hell

Jack shoved his dusty chair back from the table and bowed gracefully, "Thanking you benevolently, sympathetically, compassionately and grammatically. Taking into consideration your kind caveat, as soon as we have made repairs, we will set sail to Africa like a proverbial bat out of the theoretical Hell."

Stone grinned widely and chuckled to himself like Jack had said something incredibly entertaining before he once more leant across the table solemnly, "Actually, what this is," here he gestured around to the darked room, "is not so much of a warning as it is an 'informing'." Jack raised an eyebrow. Stone threw a week-old paper onto the scarred table. On the front cover, in curly Edwardian script was the bold headline, '_Queen's cousin taken prisoner by pirates'._ Jack frowned and read on.

_In the early morning of May the second, Alexandria Evelyn Helena Vantia, third cousin to the Queen, was believed to be villainously kidnapped and taken hostage by a band of blood-thirsty pirates. While they as yet have not been discovered, the English Navy is on full alert and scouring the waters for the offending vessel. It is believed the pirates took the ship Ms Vantia was travelling on in secrecy to wed her husband, Lord Damien DeKampft Lafew in Africa, as soon as it left English waters. The ship has been as yet unfound. It is believed the pirates will take Ms Vantia to Africa so that they may gain a considerable sum for returning her to Lord Lafew. Her family prays that Ms Vantia will be returned unharmed and …_

It went on into a more detailed family history of Alex and the last sentence described Jack, but without giving his name. It seemed someone out there in the world hadn't heard of the famous 'Captain Jack Sparrow'… A likeness of him was sketched and placed next to a family portrait of Alex and her immediate family. The contrast between Jack's scruffy attire with his decorated deadlocks, and Alex's severe and austere well-dressed family was almost comical.

Jack slid the paper back over to Stone. "They forgot to add my pirate's hat." He stated, "And my teeth are straighter than that."

"Details, details." Stone shrugged. Jack sat back down in his chair and studied Stone.

"So I can see why you're here. You find out who she is, hire a crew and track me to Tortuga. You want to capture me and take all the glory. Return to the Navy with the rescued Alex and imprisoned Captain. Get yourself promoted to Admiral Stone." Stone nodded.

"That was the general idea."

"And then all your Christmases came at once when the precious Alex herself popped up in your esteemed company."

"That it did." There was silence in the party as each tried to gauge how the other would react.

"So clap me in irons." Jack shrugged.

"Wait!" Alex cried. All heads turned to regard her.

"I'll go willingly with you to my… husband, if they are pardoned." Stone looked unconvinced.

"It's my duty to apprehend them, and there's a price on his head." But Jack detected a hint of hope in his voice. Vice Admiral Stone wasn't as adverse to this proposal as he was making himself out to be.

"I can make things very difficult for you…" Alex trailed off. "One preoccupied moment and I may just… disappear. One slip in the night-time on deck and I'm overboard. I'm no criminal, so you can't legally detain me in the brig like some common convict," Alex argued. Stone appeared to consider this for a moment, but Jack already knew what his answer would be.

"Then we have an accord. No arrests for Misters Turner and Sparrow, provided your voyage to Africa remains… uneventful." It was almost too easy. The only complaint Jack felt was the incorrect use of his name; his correct title was after all, 'Captain Sparrow,' not 'Mister.'

"Deal." Sitting ramrod straight with her hands folded in her lap, it was suddenly obvious to Jack and Will that she was indeed who the papers claimed she was. So how had she fooled them for so long?

Will thought foolishly to how had had acted towards her - she was a noble, a 'somebody', possibly in line to the throne even (Will had no idea how these things worked), who had no interest in a black-smith turned pirate like himself. It was a wonder she could tolerate being in his presence, a common sailor whose hands were as rough as canvas and whose only possessions in the world was a small hammock hanging inside a dirty great hulk of a ship. His baffled confusion towards Alex's new identity turned into simmering rage.

How could she have deceived them all like that? She deliberately put them all in danger, having the Navy seeking them like they were. Why the devil would she run away from all that wealth – and a wedding even – and risk her life on a pirate ship? To her, the _Black Pearl_ must have been her last adventure before a life of martial fulfilment. A last hurrah for independence and escapades. If Will was brutally honest with himself, deep down he had always known what she was – who she was. He'd had an inkling from the moment he saw her dressed up on the deck, and at the naval party, but his heart had ignored his brain's logical protests.

Will felt Alex had been living a lie and playing out someone else's life. All that talk about her aspirations, her opinions about the pointlessness of balls and the upper-class, when she was almost as upper-class as you can get? How much duplicity and hypocrisy had her words carried? Will balled his hands into fists in annoyance and anger at Alex's treatment of him, and at himself - that he'd allowed that to happen. The rich always assumed they could just fool around with the lesser folk, and they would just be so _grateful_ that the affluent had chosen to _associate_ with them, the working class. Ultimately Will had been fooled by a spoilt, bored little rich girl off on an adventure on the high seas, ready to bail and go back to her precious world at any moment she snapped her fingers.

Jack thought back to the first time he ever saw her, in that cell in London. He had over-looked her supposed breeding, because it mattered not in the slightest to him. And if he stirred a few rich men's feathers running off with their prize offspring, what did it matter as long as they pulled their weight on his ship? Then again, he had also never imagined Alex was as high on the social ladder as what she was. He though he was running off with some Governor's daughter, not the fourth cousin of the Queen or whatever the Lord Neptune she was. Jack was used to untruths, but Alex's deception seemed heartless. _Why didn't she just tell him the truth_? He asked himself.

"Why do you care so much about a miserable rabble such as them?" Stone asked Alex contemptuously, ignoring Jack and Will completely. The atmosphere in the room had changed from Jack, Will and Alex as the good against the evil, to the upper-class against the poor man scenario.

"Why _do_ you care?" Will asked Alex softly. Alex saw the pain and hurt and shock in his eyes. He felt double-crossed and cheated.

"I never meant any harm." She whispered. "I didn't intend for this to happen."

"You're practically royalty Alex; what did you think would happen?" Will asked sharply, incredulously. Alex shrunk back in surprise. _If you expected my sympathy, you were wrong, _Will thought harshly.

As if reading his mind, Alex's eyes hardened, "I would have expected you to be a bit more understanding." She stated coldly.

"Understanding about what!" Will challenged. "You just expect me to understand what led you to lie to me and everyone else about who you were, what you believed in; everything? You put the entire crew in danger, but selfishly, you just ignored that fact. Did you think it was fun, dressing up and playing around on your new big toy? Did you have a little adventure? Are you bored now? Do you want to go home to your comfortable sprawling estate?" Alex regarded his outburst with speechlessness. She turned to Jack.

"Jack, you know I never meant – " she stopped short as she saw his expression. _Why won't anyone believe me? _

Jack regarded Alex with cold, hard eyes and a grim mouth, "If she truly is who you say she is, take her. She is of no consequence to me, and I dare not sully her reputation by detaining you fine gentlemen any longer. Will I be expecting an invitation to the wedding?" Jack asked bitingly. He might as well as held a gun to her head and pulled the trigger. Alex stared at Jack in shock, limp with confusion. She saw Jack's cold eyes, and the ice that lay behind them. Her face hardened also to mirror Jack and Will's expression. Turning to Stone, Alex replied in her upper-class infliction,

"Thank-you for your understanding, sir." She rose gracefully and allowed herself to be led away by Montana, who seemed to have completely forgotten his earlier animosity towards her, once he knew of her worth to the Vice-Admiral. Montana threw the heavy iron door open and a naval officer standing outside escorted Alex without a word. As soon as Alex could no longer be seen, he closed the door once more. Jack felt his stomach drop. This was not part of the accord.

"Montana, I believe we have found two wanted criminals in our midst." Stone smirked. "But you granted us indemnity!" Will shouted, outraged.

"True," The Vice Admiral Stone said, "A navy man always keeps his word... It's a good thing I am no longer a navy man." The menacing face of the giant that Jack had refused to hire as a crew-member for the Black Pearl leered out of the darkness. "I found the old Admiral and his naval ways to be…inflexible." Stone elaborated. "Montana."

There was a gleam of white teeth from the shadows, and Montana stepped into the light and towered over Jack and Will. Raising his massive fists, Montana cracked his knuckles, smiling widely...

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**Yay – back to the action and suspense! History lesson's over; we now know who Alex is. But now – who is Stone? And what does he intend to do to Jack and Will? Yeah, if you didn't get that in the last sentence, Jack and Co. are in trouble (again). This time it's a pissed-off giant wanting to extract his revenge. That Jack is a lucky man. Next chapter – Jack and Will's fate: or possibly – dark chapter. Whatever floats my boat.

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**A special thanks to all my reviewers – I know I've been neglecting you of late, and I feel really, really bad. There's just not enough hours in the day. It's getting hard to update on time, let alone edit the chapter. **

**DCoD – Who did you think the baddie was going to be? I'm curious. **

**Jacquelyn Sparrow**** – introduce Commodore Norrington? Hmmm. Difficult. He's not in the plotline (I don't think I've mentioned his name so much as once, but I suppose he does exist outside of the story – much like Scarlet, I guess), but he could probably be squeezed in somehow, depending on where the story takes me. Taking into consideration I said I was going to star Anamaria, and she has yet to make her debut. She's waiting for the opportune moment ;) In case you haven't realised, my opportune moments take a while to develop :) I also promised another evil ship floating on the waters – that is definitely going to materialise soon. Very soon. Verrrrry soon. Me, refer to Captain Jack as 'Captain' constantly? That's a lot of extra typing; seven extra characters for my poor tired fingers. And what's a title between friends, me hearties? **


	30. The Black Friday

**English Trading Embassy, Friday 13th June, 1716, 9:32am. **

**Governor Lockett paced between the giant, delicately-crafted and carved mahogany desks, upturning several spindly green-leather studded chairs in his wake. He blustered around the room like an angry tornado, throwing his hands up and shaking them in the air in rage and annoyance, his silvery-white wig knocked askew by his wild erratic movements. His face glowed a violent shade of red underneath his pale powered skin, and his maroon-coloured coat did nothing to tone down his alarming complexion. One had the feeling he was like a boiling kettle, steaming and hissing, with its lid ready to fly off at any given moment. Lockett finally ceased his blustering to slam down a solid fist on a nearby desk, rattling the marble bust of the ancient Roman general Gaius Marius, and shaking the dust off the heavy yellowed tomes that rested in the wall-to-wall bookcase. **

"**Lieutenant Commander Davis, this simply isn't good enough, and you know it! I refuse to stand for it, as does the rest of the entire British Government!" **

**The seated Lieutenant Commander looked unruffled at the Governor's outburst, gazing up unperturbed at the domineering ogre bearing down over him. He raised one unamused, sceptical eyebrow and replied, "Governor Lockett. I am aware of the nuisance that this peculiar…superstition has caused, but there is hardly anything I can do about the matter. The sailors refuse to set sail on a Friday. It is an age-old superstition that I feel will never be completed eradicated from their hearts or minds. The British Traders Association will just have to cope with delayed shipments, or else make to set sail on a Thursday or Saturday." **

**The Governor took a momentous effort to try to contain his anger and speak calmly. Gritting his crooked yellowed teeth in a tight grimace, he continued, "What I don't understand, sir, is why they refuse to set sail in the first place. Surely you can easily recruit other souls that would be happy to leave port on a Friday." **

**Davis rolled his eyes in impatience, "My good Governor; you'll find no other men willing to set sail on a Friday. 'Tis a sailors superstition that they all adhere to. The good Lord Jesus died on a Friday, and they, being god-fearing men, are not willing to take any more chances on the open ocean than what they already do. They believe Friday is a cursed day to sail, and they're not going to risk the wrath of God on an already perilous journey. Don't cause added stress and discomfort to them. My advice to you remains the same; don't make them commit a sin in their eyes and the eyes of God. They won't leave port on a Friday, 'cept on pain of death. My sailors are good, honest, hardworking men; don't ask it of them. There are six other days in the week they will anxiously set sail on. They'll bear any other work without complaint, but they won't sail today." **

**Governor Lockett's tawny eyes narrowed in fury, and he leaned down on hairy forearms so his face was at the Lieutenant Commander's eye level. "I have a very important shipment that must reach North Africa by next week," He hissed softly, "You _will_ set sail _today_, Davis, or tomorrow you will find all your precious ships will be reduced nothing more than burning hulks of charred wood and cindered ash, wallowing pitifully at the dockside. Then where will you and your precious men and shipping company be, Lieutenant Commander?" **

**The Lieutenant Commander glared at the Governor for several moments, "Are you threatening me, Governor? If so, I will gladly take my business elsewhere." **

**Now it was the Governor's turn to chuckle and raise an impatient eyebrow, "Don't you see, Davis? I stand here before you, not as Governor Lockett, but as spokesperson for the entire English Trading Embassy. We are sick and tired of delayed shipments, costly docking fees and prolonged voyages, all caused by foolish sailor superstitions and peasant poppy-cock. Today, we end this tradition once and for all. Your sailors will set the precedent for all other voyages, and set the example to all other sailors. The ship they will sail on is specially commissioned, and its departure has been heavily publicised for weeks lead up to today. It _will_ sail today, and it _will_ quash all rumours of Friday and its alleged stigma. Understand? Do not make a fool of me and the English Trading Embassy in front of the entire world, Davis. If this ship does not leave port today, no ship of yours will ever leave a British port again. I will seize possession of your shipping company and I will lay-off all your cowardly, indolent and insolent crew. So on pain of death, your sailors will sail today, or they never sail again. Do I have your word, Davis?" **

**There was a pause of many minutes before finally the Lieutenant Commander spoke, "Aye." **

**Governor Lockett rocked back on his haunches and stood up once more, satisfied. "Come now, Lieutenant Commander. Let us take a leisurely carriage down to the dockside to see off the long-awaited ship. We don't want to disappoint our public, now do we?" Lockett beamed before cheerfully striding out of the door. **

**The Lieutenant Commander said nothing, and silently exited the room. **

**The handsome carriage thundered through the streets, parting the assembled crowd who had gathered to see off the new ship, so well publicised in the local paper. As the Lieutenant Commander stepped off the carriage, he squinted through the sunlight, peering up at the impressive towering ship moored beside the pier. In spite of the feeling of foreboding that flooded over him in the soundless carriage-ride to the docks, he was awed by the ship's sheer magnitude and craftsmanship. Although he had been bullied and blackmailed into providing crew for the voyage, he still felt a sense of pride that his crew were serving on a ship as prestigious as the one before him. The crew would forgive him later, when they released the choice he had to make. **

**The Governor stepped out of the carriage and nodded at the ship, "Beautiful, isn't she?" He smirked. **

"**Aye." Davis replied, "What's her name?" **

**Lockett grinned even wider, "T_he HMS Friday_." Davis spun around to look Lockett in the eye, stunned. Seeing the smug and conceited smile playing over the Governor's lips, Davis turned back to the ship in front of him, straining over the heads of the crowd to read the ship's name. Sure enough, stencilled in gold copperplate was the title, 'HMS FRIDAY.' He turned back to the Governor. **

"**You bastard. You absolute bastard." **

"**You like it?" The Governor grinned, "I told you that your crew would be participating in a very important public notice; a sort of experiment. If your crew set sail on Friday, on a ship built on a Friday and named Friday, captained by a James Friday, and their voyage is safe and successful; well then, that makes that superstition null and void. Then we can set sail on Friday's all we like from this day onward. If the voyage isn't successful…" Here Lockett grinned again, "Then God have mercy on their souls." **

**Lieutenant Commander Davis watched in stony silence as the HMS Friday pulled out of the dock and disappeared from the harbour. **

**The HMS Friday was never heard from again. **

**That next month, the English Trading Embassy was attacked by a rogue pirate ship. **

**The building was fired upon in broad daylight, its cannons shattering the sandstone structure and pulverising the entire establishment. Governor Lockett was one of the many killed. Witnesses swore the ship was covered in a scarlet, burning flame; a fire that never died, and could be felt by all who set eyes on it, smouldering in the harbour. **

**A ship straight out of Hell itself, damned into ever-lasting flames. **

**Its name:**

**THE BLACK FRIDAY.

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**

Hello to my motley crew! Woo-hoo: new ship! Incidentally – this story is true. The characters aren't, but the Navy did build a ship for that very purpose; to dispel the rumours surrounding the 'curse of Friday.' It was named Friday, sailed by Friday, etc. It was lost at sea, and no-one knows what happened to it. Maybe the Captain decided to play a little joke and buggered off to the Bahama's with the rest of the crew and had a holiday; I don't know. But it's now known as the 'Curse of the Friday.' I was going to describe the ship in further detail, but I'll do that later. They'll be plenty of time for that… muahahaha.

So, I went to some University open day today. I'm seriously looking into some English courses; maybe even creative writing. I'll team it with some other course, because I'm worried about whether a career in writing is enough to pay all the bills. I mean, it's like acting; you're either Hollywood standard, earning millions, or nobody knows you and you're starving in the streets. And I like chocolate too much to starve. So a dual degree is looking like the go. The only blergh thing about it is that they only took 12 people into the course last year. In the whole metropolis of this city, they took 12 people (!). I mean, I get hauled off my peaceful little farm and thrust into the chaotic world of the city because there's so many more 'options' than there is in the sticks. Options; my hiney-ho! 12 people! It's a disgrace! (And thus ends my rant for the day. Don't mind me; I'm just annoyed that there's no way I'll get into that course. 12 people!)

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DCoD – Norrington, hey? I must remember to put him in the story somewhere. He's just not a character I can relate to easily, that's all. He's so bloody uptight, stuffy and moralistic. Well, he was in the first movie, and that's what I'll be basing him on. As you all know, I was less-than-impressed with the second movie. Disney; shame on you. The third movie better be…(insert really impressive big word that means, 'really, really good and explosively mind-blowing with an elaborate plot, believable characters and hilarious high-jinks, excellent script and really good special effects'). 

Hippolytos – Yay! You're back! Hope your vacation was good, and then some. An extra big, chocolate-chip coated cookie for you, because you reviewed lots of chapters :) I actuallythought you mightn't like these chapters, because there's not very much action. This chapter isn't much better; I'm setting the scene again (I know, I know - a-gain; sheesh, is that all this girl knows how to do?). But it's for a good cause: evil devil-spawn ship. And aww shucks – my humble little FF isn't that good. I just write it in my spare time to combat the boring analytical essay-structure that my high-school subjects ask from me; creativity stops me from going mad.


	31. What's in a Name?

**This here's a slow chapter, team. It's as boring as all hell, so it's short. I'll update quickly next time, when you can discover the fate of Jack and Will. So this chapter is just going through Alex's feelings of hurt and betrayal – there is a slightly interesting twist at the end of it though.

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**

The recently discovered Alexandria Evelyn Vantia - noblewoman revealed masquerading as a common peasant and allegedly engaging in acts of piracy - was led, heavily escorted into a hired carriage and driven to the docks, where Stone's ship was currently moored, drifting docilely. The entire carriage-ride she had stared resolutely out the window, no emotion passing over her face or flickering behind her eyes. She might have appeared to be simply observing the passing scenery – simple Tortugan life – had she not been so tense her knuckles were white, clasped tightly in her lap in an attempt to keep herself from escaping and breaking her word to Vice-Admiral Stone. Though she didn't know why she bothered to bereave herself escape, in order to save two cowardly scabberous pirate's hides. After all, that's what they were, weren't they? That's what they expected she would think of them as. So what did she truly think about them? What did she truly feel?

Alex was spared travelling down that path when the carriage stopped abruptly and she descended from the small coach, aided by the coachman's hand. _I don't need your help,_ she thought, but bit her tongue to stop herself from voicing her opinions. That was the old Alex. She walked down the pier and passed the Black Pearl, giving no indication that she even knew of its existence. It was just another ship docked in the harbour, just another jumble of wood and canvas. What good was it to her now? What good was the _adventure_, the _freedom_ the Black Pearl stood for, especially now she was being led to a lifetime of marital commitment and confinement locked inside a sprawling yet oppressive townhouse? How was a mere ship going to save her from that fate? It was all just an illusion. The Black Pearl, her life as a pirate, her life as herself.

She allowed herself to be led up the ship's gangplank, meek and reserved; so completely unlike herself. Her former self. What was the point of trying to be yourself, when everyone condemned you for it? When everyone tries to change you, to shape you, to mould you into another cast, doesn't your very essence get bent out of shape? Who was Alexandria Evelyn Helena Vantia? A mere name? She once was an innocent youth, naïve and content in her ignorance, pretending to duel with wooden swords and elaborate day-dreams. She once was royalty. She once was a mere political pawn; an object to be traded from family to family, country to country. She once was a pirate. She once was all these things, but what did it matter now? She hadn't been accepted by anyone; all rejected her for what she was. _So now_, she thought as she sat in her small, sparse cabin, hearing the solid click of the door locking behind her, _who am I?_" Curling up in the corner of the room, she rested her head on her drawn-up knees, a single tear sliding down her face. _Lafew's dutiful wife._

Lost in her confusing thoughts and bruised emotions, she failed to note the ship's name, etched in heavy crimson lettering on the side of the hull as it pulled away from the dockside.

_The Black Friday.

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_

**I'm so sorry this chapter was so boring – I feel so cruddy when I write a slow chapter. But just recapping; it seems that both parties be in a spot of bother. Now you know how the Black Friday ties in with it all. So yes, DCoD was right – there is at least one cursed ship sailing after the formerly cursed Black Pearl. There's more cursed ships sailing around in this corner of the Caribbean then you can shake a stick at. **

**So who is this Vice-Admiral Stone, to own such a cursed ship as the Black Friday? Questions, questions, so many questions. Class, anyone care to guess? I like your guesses. Next update is back to Jack and Will (they're much more interesting, I find) – you won't be hearing from Alex for a while, I think.

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**

**Jacquelyn Sparrow – I could include your name in the story, but it would allude to Jack Sparrow either possessing a sister, mother or wife; a very difficult concept to include in this story. You never know, though. I might be able to squeeze you in somewhere – not as a major character though. Watch out for your name, but it won't occur in the next few chapters – it will occur further down the track, if it does happen. **

**Remy Le Fay – As disappointed in the second movie as I was, looking back, the plot was very good, I'll say that. I'll definitely buy the DVD when it comes out. You've convinced me.**

**DCoD – Norrington and the navy eh? Interesting… It's not silly at all. Every other bloody ship is chasing after the Black Pearl, so it's probably fair to say the Navy's after it too. Just a spoiler – Vice-Admiral Stone may not be who he says he is, seeing as he seems to be in possession of a damned ship. The Navy tends not to encourage this association, so perhaps Vice-Admiral Stone has found himself no longer belonging to the British Royal Navy…or something else… maybe… **


	32. The Black Spot

**I felt bad for writing such a poor piece of work last update, I wrote another brief chapter to try to make amends. **

"Oi; wake-y wake-y!" Came the call that echoed through Jack Sparrow's mind, rattling against his brain and grating on his nerves. Peevishly he cocked open his dark-ringed eyes, only to find he was once again in an all-too familiar gaol cell; the grid-lined metal bars hampering his view of an extremely ugly face. "That's right; I'm talkin' 'o you!" Spoke the rough voice. Jack glared at the pug-faced man contemptuously.

"All right, all right; what do you want?" Jack finally groaned, shifting his weight around on the cold, hard floor to a more comfortable position after he realised the man was not going to disappear quickly. The Captain of the Black Pearl was surprised to see he was not shackled, and was even more surprised to notice Will was in the cell next to him, looking more awake and alive than he was, albeit sporting one very bruised and blackened eye. Jack felt around his lip with his tongue, not surprised to experience the eye-watering sting that one feels when they wet a spilt-lip. The pug-faced man regarded them both for a minute, leering and smirking in his supremacy over the two captives. It was then that Jack realised they weren't detained in the Vice-Admiral's ship's brig as he originally assumed they would be; they were in a common local gaol. It seemed Lady Luck was once more smiling on him.

Jack climbed to his feet and glanced around for a few moments, observing the setting and making definitely sure they were on solid ground, not in a Navy vessel getting shipped back to England to be executed. The pug-faced man finally gave in to his curiosity and asked offhandedly, "Wot 'chu lookin' for?"

Satisfied they were not being transported back to the motherland, Jack settled himself back onto the floor. "I take it we've missed the boat, then."

"Aye, it appears the good Vice-Admiral has taken off wit'out ye. No matter, to keep yer spirits up, I've got a present for ye both, straight from the Vice Admiral he-self."

Jack mentally winced. 'A present' in pirate speak was more often than not synonymous with pain, often given by either lashes or a bullet.

Grinning at some unseen joke, the puggy man handed a piece of parchment to Will through the bars with a flourish. "Compliments of Vice Admiral Stone," he sniggered.

With trembling hands, Will turned over the parchment. It was thin, almost translucent, and held printing on both sides. It was marred with a blot of dark ink exactly in the middle of the page.

"The Black Spot?" Jack said scornfully from his cell, barely suppressing a laugh. Will looked absolutely horrified. "He gave you the Black Spot?" Pug-Face frowned in annoyance; Jack's reaction was meant to be fear and horror, not scorn and sarcasm. Incensed, he turned to Jack and pushed another piece of parchment through the bars and stormed back up the stairs, after telling Jack, "Enjoy."

**Disney so stole the idea of the Black Spot off me – I had it written down before the POTC 2 movie – mind you, I 'borrowed' (without permission) the initial concept from Louis Stevenson's "Treasure Island" anyway. Their word against mine. **


	33. The Black Skull

**Here you go; I wrote a longer chapter, hopefully more interesting and everything. Don't say I don't love you guys.

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**

Still smiling in amusement, Jack swaggered over to the fluttering piece of parchment, snatching it from its slow spiral through the air, sure it also contained the Black Spot, like Will's. As soon as he turned it over however, the cocky smile rapidly vanished from his face, only to be replaced with a look of mingled fury annoyance and despair. His piece of parchment was almost twice as big as Will's, and while Will's had been printed on a common printing-press, Jack's was obviously more rare. Riled, Jack threw his paper on the floor, made disgusted hand motions and snorts at it, and when he decided his reactions were not enough to justify the indignity the piece of paper was causing him, he began jumping up and down on it in rage, his mud-coated boots leaving smears and streaks over the yellowed page. After several minutes of swearing and ravaging the parchment, Jack calmly stepped off the soiled and crumple omen of death.

"You know what this means?" Jack asked grimly as he picked the paper up gingerly between two dirty fingers, like one would pick a dead rat out of an apple barrel. Will, who had been regarding Jack's actions warily, thankful for the solid metal bars separating them, replied nervously. It wasn't often he saw Jack lose control like that. Well, without the aid of several gallons of rum.

"You're going to die?" He ventured.

"No," Jack conceded heavily, "It's much worse than that." Here Jack once more regarded the parchment, a sardonic sneer twisting his gold-and-silver mouth, and fright flickering in his chocolate eyes. He folded the damaged parchment into quarters and tucked it grimly into the unknown depths of his oilskin coat. "I have to go to church."

Will was silent for a moment, trying to contemplate what exactly the Black Spot was, and why Jack was so calm about Will's, while so exasperated at his own Black Spot. "What exactly is it?" Will questioned softly, staring down at the innocent-looking piece of paper held in his hand, not quite sure what to make of it.

"The Black Spot," Jack began, sitting down heavily and leaning against the bars of his cell, "is a pirate curse."

"I'm cursed?"

"Aren't we all, at some point in time?" Jack replied waspishly before pulling his hat down over his eyes. His slightly muffled voice continued to emit from underneath the tricorne, "It goes with the territory of being a pirate. An Ancient Egyptian curse here, throw in some curse artefact here, I'm sure the pirates can handle it. While we're at it we'll put a damned ship of death on their tale too, just so they have something to do."

Will grinned his half-smile in amusement, "If I didn't know any better I'd say you were sulking, Jack Sparrow." Jack pushed his hat up off his eyes with one finger, and fixed one eye on Will.

"It's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, if you please," he corrected, "And I'm not sulking. I'm in melancholy. There's a difference. Now, if you have nothing more intelligent to contribute to the conversation…" Jack tipped his hat back down over his face.

"Wait, you still haven't told me about the curse. You haven't even clarified if I am cursed."

"You're bloody well cursed, mate, good and proper." Jack conceded, leaning his head back against the cold steel, trying to soothe his pounding head, "The Black Spot is, in essence, a death-notice. One tears out a page of the Bible and swears an oath to the devil on it. The devil's duty is to take the soul of the poor bastard whom the page is given to, and believe me, the devil takes this duty very seriously. That gorgeous, detailed little black ink spot you have on your page there tells you ever so politely that you've been marked for death." Will looked at his piece of parchment with renewed interest and disgust.

"So why are you so unconcerned about my predicament, but so wholly worried about your own?" Will questioned angrily.

"Be-cause," Jack explained, drawing out the word and rolling his eyes in annoyance at Will's lack of understanding, "The Spot you hold has a very weak version of the curse on it. I mean, look at it; it's a printed Bible page for Christ's sake – no offence meant." Jack clasped his hands together in a little prayer-like gesture and jerked his head down in a repentive gesture, eyes fixed on the ceiling, before turning back to Will. With the Devil after him it wasn't a good idea to anger the only hope of salvation he had, "Where was I?" He muttered to himself, "Ah, yes, little spotty. It's almost an insult, that spot you're holding there. The devil won't place claiming your soul as a high priority."

"So why are you so special to the devil?" Will asked crossly, still stung at Jack's indifference to his Black Spot. Jack closed his eyes in defeat, banging the bar of his head against the steel bars.

"Be-cause, I'm more of a 'higher priority'. I mean, look at this." Here Jack passed his parchment through the bars to Will. Will took one look at it and could immediately see the point the seasoned pirate was making.

While Will's Black Spot was no more than an ink blot on a common scrap of paper, Jack's was different. Much different. His parchment, for starters, was quality - thick and gold-leafed, almost twice the size of Will's page. Instead of mechanical printing, Jack's text was hand-calligraphed in curling ancient Latin script, the borders hand-drawn and painted in expensive oils and decorated with scenes from the Bible. It was a page from a monk's personal Bible, written in the 1100's, stolen from an ancient monastery hidden in the hills of Rome itself. Even the ink blot was different. Will's was exactly that; a blot, while Jack's was far more sinister. The blotted ink had formed a misshapen skull, leering out of the page with unseeing eyes, damning the unlucky soul who had received the Black Skull.

"So how do we get rid of it?" Will finally asked, after they had spent over an hour in defeated silence.

"Easy for you." Jack finally muttered, heaving himself to his feet and stumbling wearily over to where Will sat. "Okay," Jack laced his fingers through the bars and began instructing, "Pirate lesson number… a lot. Lay out your parchment like so," here Jack managed to squeeze his lower-arms through the bars and lay out Will's page on the stone ground beside the bewildered blacksmith. "Now, give me your hand." Jack demanded, withdrawing his hands back to his side of the cell. Will offered his left hand through the bars, and quicker than he could blink, Jack had unsheathed his dagger hidden somewhere on his person and cut Will's finger. Drawing Will's hand through the bars so that they were once more on Will's side, Jack guided Will's finger over his flattened paper.

"In the name of the Father," here Jack pressed Will's finger to the top centre of the torn page, leaving a bloodied finger-print. He then directed Will's finger all the way from the top of the page to the bottom. A line of blood now passed vertically though the Black Spot.

"The Son," He pressed Will's finger to the left hand side of the page, and guided it all the way across to the right hand side. Another line now passed through the Black Spot; this time horizontally.

"And the Holy Ghost," Will's bloodied finger was now moved to the middle of the paper, directly over the Black Spot. "Amen." Jack finished solemnly. Will's page of the Bible now had a crucifix marked out over it in his blood. At Jack's last word, the piece of parchment crumpled up with an unearthly shriek, as if scorched by an unseen force, and disintegrated into dust.

Will cautiously opened a previously screwed-up eye.

"That's it?" He questioned disbelievingly.

"Aye, the Devil won't be too pleased with our friend the Vice Admiral." Jack murmured, "He promised him a soul, and it's escaped. And there's Hell to pay when the Devil loses a soul."

"How did you know to do that?" Will asked as he roughly bandaged his hand with a scrap of material. Jack shrugged, withdrawing his hands once more to his side of the cell. In contemplation, he turned his roughened hands palms up and regarded numerous small scars on his right fingers and thumb.

"I'd be a poor pirate if I didn't know how to break a simple curse of the Black Spot."

"Don't you usually need a priest to perform that kind of thing? Casting out demons and so on?"

Jack smiled a crooked smile, "Mayhaps, but I'm almost as qualified as they. After all, I did impersonate a clergyman at one point in my life." Will was silent as he contemplated why Jack would have dressed as a prominent church-figure, until after further reflection he realised it was probably best if he didn't delve too deep into Jack's past exploits.

"But what about you; how are you cursed?" Will persisted, a feeling of euphoria slowly engulfing him. One minute ago he was a cursed man; seemingly condemned to die a painful death and experience eternity in Hell. The next minute he was completed cleared, but for some reason, Jack was not.

"A lot more painfully." Jack muttered darkly. "Firstly, I have to escape this hell-hole before six days have passed."

"Why the sixth?"

"Because God made the world in six days, and on the seventh He rested, ergo, on the seventh day, my soul is no longer under God's protection and it's a free-for-all for the fate of Captain Jack." He growled. "If I manage to escape, I have to find a church, and a priest and -." Jack broke off, shuddering.

"And?" Will persisted.

"And I have to face a fate worse than Hell itself; a baptism." Will smirked, all trace of solemnity dissipated.

"Do you have to wear a baptism gown? " He grinned crookedly. Jack somehow managed to land a solid blow on Will's shoulder, despite the fact he had to throw the punch through the interlaced iron bars.

"Ouch." Will frowned, rubbing his shoulder. He regarded Jack once more, amusement dancing in his eyes, "With lace and frills and everything?"

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**Woo-hoo, no time to chat. Got to beat the clock and post this thing before my internet shuts down. **

**Except to pose this question: how are the dynamic duo going to escape this time? So many questions... sigh...**

**Apologies for any misspelt words: time waits for no man, and not much longer for the likes of myself. **


	34. The last Last Supper

Still smarting from Will's barb about the indignity of wearing a baptism gown, Jack looked on in undisguised disgust as the warden slid their food bowls through an opening at the bottom of the bars. Tentatively Will picked up his chipped and cracked unadorned clay-bowl filled with some form of congealed substance previously unknown to mankind.

"'S yer last supper, so I'd enjoy it, if I was yer." The warden grinned through broken and missing teeth.

"Care to join us then?" Jack remarked casually.

The warden's grin faded. "No."

Jack settled back in his cell, pushing the bowl back through the flap it had come from, "More's the pity." Jack conceded, then rolling his eyes and threading his hands through the bars, grabbed Will's wrist to stop him trying to attempt something stupid. Which, in this case, was sampling the gaol food. Straining through the bars, Jack grimly grabbed the bowl from Will and turned it upside-down. He held it aloft for several seconds. The congealed gloop did not budge from the bowl. The warden looked on in barely-disguised interest, but didn't appear surprised at the supper's reluctance to part company with the bowl. Probably because the warden was also the gaol's chef-in-residence, so he knew exactly what was in the thick soup-like broth. Jack turned it the right-way up again and regarded it through the bars. Then he threw it at the warden. The bowl clanged resoundingly against the cold steel criss-crossed bars, then rolled away. The mush remained firmly set in the bowl, undisturbed by neither the forces of gravity, nor the forces of Jack.

"You know, of all the gaols I've frequented, that has got to be the worse last supper I've ever seen." Jack told the warden conversationally. The warden didn't know whether to look outraged that Jack had thrown food at him, or apologetic about the quality of the food.

"Oh really? 'Ow many last supper's 'ave yer 'ad?" The warden asked, for want of a better reply. Jack looked up at the ceiling for a moment, apparently deep in concentration.

"Thirty-two." The warden frowned in displeasure. He wasn't used to getting cheek from the prisoners. What he was used to was people begging and grovelling for their lives at his feet. Little did he know Jack wasn't being impertinent; he was telling the God's honest truth.

"Well, consider this yer last, last supper." The warden snapped, ascending the stairs once more and slamming the heavy iron door shut in finality.

"It seems you won't have to wait six days for the Devil to claim your soul," Will remarked lightly as he kicked the bowl around with his feet, "He's set the date for tomorrow morning."

"William, William, William. You're forgetting one thing." Will glanced over at Jack warily.

"What?"

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy."

By the time midnight had occurred, Will was beginning to think that being Jack Sparrow was not going to be enough to save them.

"Jack." Whispered Will, several moments after the blinding light from upstairs filtered through his bars, waking him. If that hadn't been enough to rouse him, the noise from an extremely intoxicated, extremely raucous drunkard being dumped into a cell three down from their own achieved the task.

Jack cracked open a tired eye. "What?"

"I fail to see how being Captain Jack Sparrow is going to help you out of this scrape."

"Will?" Jack asked.

"Yes." Will replied, waiting for some smart, pert and astute answer from the incarcerated Captain.

"Shut-up."

At one o'clock, Will still couldn't sleep. He looked over at Jack's prone figure in contempt and wonder. Jack was lying spreadeagled on the hard stone ground, fully clothed in boots and all, his tri-corn hat pulled down over his eyes, deep in slumber. While Jack may be well versed in this kind of scenario, Will was finding sleep particularly elusive, seeing as this was supposedly his last night on earth before his date with the hang-man's noose tomorrow at sunrise.

"Jack." Will began, prodding Jack awake through the bars.

"Mmm…" Jack acknowledged Will without moving.

"Run this by me again; how exactly are we to escape in less than four hours?" There was a deep sigh issuing from underneath the captain's hat.

"Mate, I'll elaborate for you. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, the most dastardly, notorious, handsome pirate this side of the seven seas. As soon as word gets out that Captain Jack's in the local town gaol, d'you know exactly how many lasses - young and unfortunately hideously old - are running down to the brig with a set of keys, food, marriage certificates or anything else so that I will be freed of the fated gallows? And how many lads are running round with a wooden cutlass and half a stick of dynamite to blow me out of me cell so that I may take them on as an apprentice pirate? Give it a few hours, you'll see." He finished, settling back down and preparing for sleep.

"We only have four hours to work with!" Will exclaimed, dearly wishing he could throw something at the pirate captain's head.

"Will, m'boy?"

"Aye, I know, I know; 'shut-up'."

"Smart lad."

At one-thirty, the iron door that led to the underground prison cells in the gaol creaked open loudly, the reverberating screeching noise sounding like a thousand finger-nails being drawn down a blackboard. Jack was awake immediately; Will had never gone to sleep.

"See?" Jack whispered to Will, "What did I tell you." He smirked, "No-one resists the charm of Captain Jack Sparrow."

The figure, a black silhouette against the golden-yellow candle-light from upstairs, slowly descended down the steps, the form looking decidedly feminine. _Jack was right,_ Will admitted reluctantly, _one of his whore's to the rescue._

"Will?" The female voice whispered, standing in front of his cell seeming unsure of herself. Both Jack and Will sat up straighter. Who was this? There was the sound of a match being lit, and then …

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**Sometimes, I am so wholly evil I scare myself. What a cliff-hanger – hehehe. Who is Will's rescuer? Stay tuned, and tune in next update. Incidentally, a lot of people seemed to take to the idea of Jack rigged up in a moth-eaten yellowed lacy baptism gown, a look of pure disgust over his face. Sometimes I really wish I could draw well, because some images are just so ridiculous and funny they can't be done justice in a description of mere words… **

**Oh, lookie, the weekend; enough time to answer reviews. And may I take the time to thank-you all for your continued support and continuos reviewing, both new reviewers and old. Big chocolate chip cookie and tall glass of cold milk (what else goes so well with cookies?) for hippolytos, who left my inbox very full, and me very surprised and happy.

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**Hippolytos – I don't mind that you want more interesting and action-packed chapters. I never said I didn't want constructive criticism (bad use of double-negative there), and I can see where you're coming from with that suggestion. I don't mind at all; it makes me try harder to write a better and more enjoyable chapter :) And such fascination with Norrington. I'm determined to put him in the story now, since everyone's shown such interest. So, him and Anamaria have to be worked into the plot somehow. And Jacquelyn Sparrow wants her name mentioned somewhere… Oh, and I haven't totally abandoned Alex, but Jack needed some roguish time to act like the lovable rogue he is. And go easy on him about his escaping – the poor soul had only been in prison (awake and conscious) for about two hours – that's the trouble with being a famous Pirate Captain; such pressure to perform :) And thanks for noticing the chapters – I was beginning to think as a rule of thumb that no-one read the chapter names (I myself am often guilty of doing so in my rush to read the chapter's text.) **

**Remy Le Fay – I would give my right arm to somehow get Jack in a lacy baptism gown – Disney people take note: put it into the third movie somehow, and I will… bake you a batch of my famous chocolate chip cookies or something (I actually can cook, you know). **

**DCoD – I wouldn't exactly call Jack's escape 'grand.' And (spoiler alert for next few chapters) he actually puts saving his soul on the wayside for a moment; debatably for matters that may not be entirely selfish and self-motivated. And now you made me feel guilty about leaving Alex on the Black Friday… any man who falls behind gets left behind…although it's been proven that rule is more of an actual guide-line… I won't let anything too bad happen to her, but yeah, she definitely needs a hug about now. I'm going to regret asking this for appearing like a technology illiterate fool, but what in hell's gravy-boat is LMAO? **


	35. A Jaded Vixen

"Elsey?" Will asked incredulously as the flickering light from the match danced around the flame-haired maiden. Her beauty had not faded from the last time he saw her, when she danced with him at the ball on the naval ship. She still had that dazzling, mind-numbing effect on Will as she had the first time he set eyes on her.

"Not Alex?" Jack murmured from his corner, slightly crushed. Then he remembered, why would she want to save their hides, when she had her new posse of obscenely wealthy and obnoxious friends to annoy. So if the person standing at Will's cell was not Alex, who was she? More to the point; how come Will knew a girl that he didn't? _He_ was meant to be the one getting rescued first, not uptight bloody William. "Elsey, who's Elsey?" Jack called in the darkness from his cell, but he was ignored. Will was still too fixated on his rescuer to pay any heed to the little murmuring shadow to his left that was Jack. The Captain of the _Black Pearl_ frowned in the darkness and contemplated the identity of their apparent liberator. Who was this unknown trollop that had the particulars of their run-in with Vice-Admiral Stone, knew they were locked in a Tortguan cell and had the guts to waltz in to rescue them? _Scratch that_, Jack decided, _more importantly, did she have rum?_

"What are you doing?" Will whispered to Elsey, unable to tear his eyes away from her own jade ones.

"Rescuing you, of course." She giggled, holding aloft a set of keys and jinglingly them coquettishly. Daintily Elsey inserted the rusting key into Will's cell, and with a loud groan the cell door swung open. Still in a state of shock and awe, Will staggered out of his cell and allowed himself to be guided up the stone steps to his freedom, almost in a trance. As soon as he placed one foot on the first step, however, there was the sound of a throat being cleared loudly behind him.

Spinning around in surprise, Will turned to regard a very irritated Captain Sparrow. Jack was leaning heavily against his locked cell door, his hands laced through the bars. He tapped the locked padlock in annoyance with a ringed and dirty finger, "Forgetting something?"

"Err, sorry." Will finally offered, although he knew that 'sorry' didn't quite cover completely forgetting to release his friend from gaol. Especially since Jack only had five and a half days before he was marked for death. As Will unlocked Jack's cell door, cringing slightly in shame as he held it open for the pirate captain, Jack merely stalked by without uttering a word. Although, when he passed Elsey, he looked her up and down slowly, raised a speculative and sceptical eyebrow, then continued up the stairs to his freedom. Will followed soberly after Jack - almost like a scolded child - with Elsey bringing up the rear, ascending the stairs slowly due to her long skirts and high-heeled evening boots.

Jack calmly stepped out into the middle of the lightened room, confident that Elsey had taken care of the guards and the warden. Stepping over several inert bodies, he surmised that his assumption was correct. _So the lass isn't completely daft after all,_ Jack thought as he walked over a small wooden desk, occupied by a guard who had slumped over unconscious in his chair. Jack walked over behind the desk, noting the top drawer had a label underneath the brass handle: "private and confidential." Grinning roguishly to himself, Jack slid open the drawer and extracted the poorly-concealed bottle of rum from underneath a few sheaths of loose paper. Tipping the unconscious guard brusquely off the chair, Jack calmly seated himself on the previously occupied stool, leant back and rested his boots on the desk, taking a victorious swig of some very fine and expensive spirits.

Will was next to emerge from the dim staircase, stumbling slightly over the bodies as his eyes adjusted to the light. As his vision cleared, the first sight that greeted him was Jack, cocky and confident as always, looking as if he was the one that had knocked out all the guards and single-handedly rescued Will and himself. Will rolled his eyes – Jack Sparrow could find alcohol in a nunnery in the Artic Circle - and turned his attentions back to Elsey, who was having difficulty climbing the last of the steep stairs, due to her dress.

_Perhaps the lass is as daft as I initially thought, _Jack thought, contemplating her over his amber bottle. _What lass dresses up to the nines to sprig a man from gaol, _he thought scornfully as he took in her immaculately brushed and pinned hair, her flawless make-up, her polished boots and her expensive dress. As she got to the last step, she appeared to stumble on the hem of her dress and fell towards Will. _Ahh, that sort of lass, _Jack thought as Will immediately caught Elsey, and she clung to him for several seconds, almost nose-to-nose.

"How clumsy of me!" Elsey finally giggled, breaking the silence. Although Will had helped Elsey to her feet, he still hadn't released her from his grip. Jack rolled his eyes, but declined to comment. The wench, after all, had sprung them from gaol. Although, if it were up to her, Jack was almost certain she'd release Will and leave himself behind to rot in his cell. Taking the last swig of rum, Jack stepped over the comatose warden, resisting the urge to shove some of their congealed 'last supper' into his filthy mouth, just to see how he liked it. Ah, well, they probably didn't have enough time, depending on how Elsey had managed to knock them out. Mind you, she had done a very decent job of it. Jack prodded the sleeping warden with his booted toe. No reaction. Jack discretely gave him a swift kick to the ribs. No response. Feeling he might as well make a proper job of it, Jack booted him in the groin. Nada. Jack frowned. _That isn't natural…_

Jack waltzed over to Will, his precious bottle still in one hand. He tapped Will's shoulder insistently until Will broke out of his stupor, "Oi, Aficionado, how did your dame make the guards go 'nighty-nighty'?"

"I sent them a casket of drugged rum." Elsey answered sweetly.

"Clever." Will complimented, clearly smitten. Jack's eyes immediately widened and flew to the deceptively innocent bottle clutched in his left hand. _Oops.

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'**Woah; that rocked my socks to the core' I hear you all say. Whodathought it was Elsey, in the gaol, with the drugged bottle of wine (that was meant to be like one of those Cluedo revelation things). Who _is_ Elsey? Can you guys remember her at all? She did get a fleeting mention in a few chapters, namely around the chapter 14-15 area. See, I told you some people from the ball would pop up again. **

**Next chapter for those interested is another dark one, for those who like it.

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**DCoD – I was tempted to have Anamaria or Alex rescue them, but…I dunno…it didn't feel right. I suppose Alex could have, but…I dunno. I don't even know how Alex is going to escape from the Black Friday. The plan was to have Will and Jack possibly rescue her, but they seem otherwise engaged…**

**Jacquelyn Sparrow – I have put your name in the story, but it's down the track a little way. It's a bit of a small role I'm afraid, but if it's any consolation you get to sit in Jack's lap. Lucky you :) **

**Willowred – oh, wow; I didn't realise I'd written so many chapters! They're a bit on the small side compared to other peoples, but: 35 chapters! Yay! **

**Cuilean uasul – Yeah, something like "Her/His Majesty's Ship" I dunno; it works. And give Jack some credit; he'd have recognised that namby-pamby stick-in-the-mud Norrington for what he truly is; even if he was disguised as someone like Vice Admiral Stone. The man is a pirate; Jack has this inbuilt radar to sense Naval people and other people of authority that possess the power to arrest him. Then he stays the hell away from them. Okay, so Jack might taunt them a little, but then he buggers off and lays low for a while. **


	36. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

**The vast underground cavern is barely lit; eerie reddish light filters through the cracks in the stone, tinging the grey walls, making them seem as if they burn with an inner fire. Stalagmites rise from the hardened earth like the clawed fingers of a buried man's desperate hand, struggling in vain to free himself from his horrific fate. Stalactites hang precariously from the top of the 24-foot high vaulted ceiling, appearing as if the slightest breeze could bring them crashing to the ground like deadly icicles. Bats screech ominously from the shadows and their leathery wings rustle together in impatience, hidden in the darkness bar for their scarlet glowing eyes. **

**He hangs up limply against the hard, unmerciful stone, the cold seeping through the back of his light shirt and chilling him to the bone. His wrists are shackled with cold irons, so cold they seem as if they're burning into his skin. Dazed, he lifts his head in confusion. "Where am I?" He mutters pitifully. Inwardly he cringes at the pain and weakness expressed in his voice. A sharp prod to his ribs makes him cry out in pain, his body arcing against the fire that suddenly ripples through his torso. His hoarse shout echoes amongst the cavern, multiplying in intensity and volume until the rocks swallow up his voice, devouring his screams eagerly, hungrily. The pain is almost unbearable; inhumane. His eyes cleared by the shock of the hurt, he looks up through his dank and matted hair, breathing heavily as he attempts to control his hammering heart. **

**He stands before Jack, dark and dangerous, both impossibly handsome and heart-stoppingly ugly. He's tall and impossibly lean, his dark cloak turned up at the collar and the coat-tails billowing out slightly by an unfelt wind. The man's skin is an almost translucent white, his hair the blue-black colour of a raven's feather. But his eyes… His eyes are a bottomless, merciless black; the iris's a fiery, scorching red. He holds in his extremely long fingers a three-pronged triton, twirling it lightly in jest. The man tips his head back in pride and conceit, in recognition of Jack's observations of him. **

"**Jack Sparrow." He says familiarly, as if they were old acquaintances. **

"**Captain; _Captain_ Jack Sparrow." Jack murmurs. The man laughs, a deep chuckle that echoes around the vaulted stone ceiling. **

"**Ever the self-propagandist." The man grins, "We go way back, don't we Jack?" He reminds Jack. Jack nods curtly in recognition. **

"**Lucifer." He acknowledges. The Devil grins. **

"**So you do remember!" He exclaims silkily, delightfully. "Then again, it's not like you to forget old friends. And we've gone back such a long way. Right from your early days. All those souls you killed, slain by the tip of your blade or the end of your pistol. Every time you looked into their dying eyes, you were looking into mine, and you enjoyed it, didn't you?" He doesn't allow for Jack to speak; doesn't give him time to defend himself. He draws in closer to Jack's face, taunting him. **

"**You were such _fun_ back then, Jack. You were so promising; so full of anger, so full of hate, so full of _evil_. It made me proud. But then you changed. That anger lessened; it dissolved, it _died_. What happened, Jack?" The Devil frowns; hurt. "I thought you'd all but disappeared, and I _missed_ you. But then there was the curse of Cortes's. He was _such_ a _crafty_ man, so cunning. I was so _sure_ you wouldn't figure that one out…so sure I'd finally be able to claim you back… but no, you slipped away. Out of my fingers and clutches…until now." His voice is soft and compelling, hypnotic and mesmerising. Jack turns his head away in disgust, but the Devil cups Jack's chin and forces his face upward, his clawed nails raking at Jack's cheeks, leaving little droplets of blood. He grins predatorily at Jack, fangs and pointed teeth gleaming. **

**Still grinning he thrusts the pronged fork at Jack's shoulder, the spikes sinking into Jack's flesh; burning, blistering, searing. Again Jack howls in pain, and the Devil smirks as he slowly draws the pitchfork back out, prolonging Jack's pain; enjoying it, savouring it, tasting it. "Just a little reminder. Your pitiful soul belongs to me, _Captain_." He mocks, twirling the bloodied pitchfork around in his hands. **

**Jack's head, which had previously dropped to his chest as he struggled to keep conscious, drew up. Looking him straight in his empty eyes, Jack challenges, "So come and get me." Eyes narrowing in rage, Lucifer drove his pronged pitchfork into Jack's chest, scraping past bones and spearing straight into his heart.

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Soooo, what happens to Jack? Poor Jack; I think nine times out of ten chapters the guy's in danger of losing his life/a limb/ something major. What can I say; he's just one of those guys that attracts trouble. It comes with the profession.

Annnnnd, I was reading one of Honorat's FF's – damn… Very sobering… The story is pure genius. It's got all this historically accurate terminology, sailing and nautical lingo; the works. Being an English teacher with interests in sailing and history must help, but wow… if you go for that type of historically correct stuff – and the narrative and descriptions are beautiful too, by the way – I suggest you read it, if you haven't already. I was blown away. I am both envious and jealous, which are sort of the same thing anyway.

DCoD – Yeah, the wine was drugged. Yeah, Jack's not too happy about that. The Devil is; it gives him a chance to taunt Jack before his six days are up and he becomes the Devil's permanent property.

Lonaargh – Yay! You're back! Hope your holidays were great fun/ restful/ whatever you look for in holidays.


	37. Diamond in the Rough

_Jack… Jack… Jack…JACK!_

Jack felt a sharp slap to his face, and he groggily pulled himself out of the enshrouding darkness of his subconsciousness. He clawed his way through the blackness like a drowning man reaches for the surface, awakening with a start, almost head-butting Will as he jerked suddenly upright into a sitting position. His eyes were wide and his breaths fell quickly. His heart thundered in his chest, and his skin was slick with sweat. His ribs and shoulder aches, but he was mercifully _alive_. Jack took a deep breath and stretched out on the comfortable bed, savouring the moment. His shoulder, ribs and chest still ached and throbbed dully, but he ignored their protest.

"Jack, are you well?" Will asked, the concern about his captain's welfare evident in his worried tone. "You were shouting for a good five minutes, and we couldn't wake you." Jack peered into Will's anxious dark eyes, _If only you knew, lad._ Instead, still leaning back, Jack propped himself up on his elbows. He surveyed Will, sitting close to the bedside in a padded wooden chair, and Elsey, removed slightly from their affairs, seated at the small rounded table at the opposite end of the room. In fact, she appeared to be sulking that Jack had occupied Will's attention and concern instead of herself. Jack knew enough about Tortuga's settings to surmise they were at a hotel, and a fairly cheap one at that. Regarding Will and Elsey, Jack placed a hand hesitantly over his stomach, grimacing. "Just what did that fair wretch of yours put into that rum?"

Elsey rolled her eyes elegantly, "_You_ weren't supposed to drink it." she explained in exasperation.

"I _am_ a pirate, luv." Jack sighed, mentally rolling his eyes. Frankly, Jack couldn't see what Will found so attractive about her. Fairly, she had a pleasing face, what with all that wavy fiery red hair and those jade almond-shaped eyes and soft pink lips, and she certainly possessed a figure that looked extremely attractive in a dress, but… _Okay, so she was physically alluring_, Jack conceded in exasperation, but he was under the impression Will went for more than just looks. It was more Jack's type of thing to do, to seek out women for their looks, but even Jack had standards. He liked his women to be feisty and independent (look at that whole fiasco with Scarlet), and even though Elsey had sprung them from the gaol, Jack still felt… displeased with her.

Finally rising out of her seat and joining the rest of the company by Jack's bedside, Elsey walked up to Will – hips swaying provocatively - and sat herself in his lap, ignoring Jack. "Speaking of gaol, what horrible person locked you in there in the first place, Willy?" She pouted, lightly tracing a bruise forming on his tanned cheek, frowning slightly at the thought that someone had dared to incarcerate her dear William. Will blushed under his tan but made no attempt to dissuade her.

"A member of the royal Navy, and a right royal pain in the - " Here Will broke off, not wanting to swear in front of Elsey's delicate ears.

"Vice Admiral Jason Stone." Jack finished curtly, feeling sorry for Will - to some extent -but at the same time feeling annoyed he let Elsey continue on with her obvious flirting and fawning.

Almost as if reading his mind, Elsey dropped her hand back into her lap in surprise. "_The_ Vice Admiral Stone; nephew to the Queen?" She asked, her green eyes wide, addressing Jack directly.

"Aye." Jack answered offhandedly, not really curious as to what the wench was about to say next. No doubt some smidgeon of worthless gossip – how many relations could the Queen have anyway? Inbred, the lot of them.

"Why, but that's impossible!" She exclaimed, turning her attentions once more back to Will.

"How so?" Jack questioned, as Will was obviously too occupied with Elsey's presence to manage anything else but gawp.

Not even bothering to tear her eyes away from Will, Elsey answered,

"Vice Admiral Stone is currently serving in the waters off Asia with the rest of his fleet. There was a report just two days ago. I know this because Daddy's a very important Naval man himself." Jack wasn't surprised about Elsey's parentage, but what had him taken-aback was her reference to the Vice Admiral's whereabouts. He hadn't foreseen this turn of affairs. If Vice Admiral Stone had been serving in Asian waters naught but two days ago, three at the very most, there was no way he could have been in Tortuga yesterday. Mayhaps the lass had gotten her facts mixed up. Contemplating her as she played with a strand of Will's hair, giggling, it certainly wouldn't shock Jack. Still, Jack had turned over… _custody_ of Alex to the Vice Admiral and the Navy, so he best make sure he had, in fact, given Alex to the Vice, not to a total stranger.

"Excuse the interruption," Jack began bitingly, fighting to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, "what did your Vice Admiral Stone look like?" Looking severely put out that she had to turn her attentions off her William, Elsey turned to face Jack once more.

"He's just under 6 foot, with dark brown curly hair, brown eyes, cheek-bones to die for; your typical Welshman." She describes.

"Ah. Did he have an accent of any type? Any infliction from serving in foreign waters?" Jack asked hurriedly, before Elsey's attentions waned and turned back to Will. She frowned prettily, "Not that I remember. I haven't spoken to him for over a year, however, so it is possible he had picked it up since last time we met."

"He has a diamond for a tooth." Will added, finally snapping out of his trance and speaking.

"That's not Vice Admiral Stone." Elsey replied instantly with conviction. "He would never get a tattoo or anything of that sort. Certainly not a diamond tooth. His Aunt would kill him. And look around; if the navy were moored at Tortuga, it'd be a ghost town."

Will looked over at Jack, a dark expression appearing over his features. So then who took Alex away? Relieved of her conversation with Jack, Elsey once more turned her attentions back to Will, smoothing some hair away from his forehead, gazing deeply into his eyes. Will immediately forgot all his consternations over Alex. Jack decided he couldn't handle this public and disarming flirting any longer, and threw himself from the bed, taking no heed of the pain in his shoulder. He just hoped Will wouldn't get any ideas now the bed was unoccupied…

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**Damn, I know she's done nothing wrong, but I hate Elsey. She's just so…fake… Of course, why am I complaining, when I was the one that wrote the character…

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**Almost forgot – I have 150 reviews! Let me just say that again: 150 reviews! 150, 150, 150! Very excited. Reviews are even better than a sandwich – with a pickle on it – and…and… another pickle! Anyway, I'd just like to again thank all my reviewers and mystery readers that wish to remain unknown for their support and interest :D Welcome to xthexstarlettex and thanks for reading and reviewing. Thanks also to DCoD and Lonaargh (who went to Greece and who I am consequently very jealous of), who boosted up the reviews so I got 150 last chapter. What was that number again – I didn't hear properly. 150.150.150. 150! **


	38. Real Live Eunuch

**Okay, here's the deal: I know I've written a horribly short chapter. My internet turns off in two hours. Be there. You have two hours to read, review and spur me on to complete this chapter. I'm evil, I know. (I've been doing assignments all day; you have to give me _some_ sort of incentive to keep writing). **

Jack strode - off-balance and tottering as always - out of the ramshackle hotel after easily charming the toothless landlady out of another key to their room, so he wouldn't awaken Will and Elsey when he returned later. Guided by an almost internal radar, Jack wound his way through the maze of darkened streets until he came across a rowdy and raucous bar. That was the good thing about Tortuga; you didn't have to walk very far to find an establishment serving spirits. It wasn't the one he commonly frequented when he made port in Tortuga, but he figured with his escape from the gaol, it was best if his actions were unpredictable for the time being.

Before Jack could take another step towards the bar, a voice leered out of the shadows, and he felt the cold steel barrel of a gun digging into his stomach.

"Ye know what I be after." The voice hissed.

"A pint of Madame Zalks's finest?" Jack suggested mildly, nodding towards the sign hanging over the bar's doors, featuring the painted picture a woman almost bursting out of her bodice, two flagons of frothy beer overflowing from each hand, "Those jugs are looking really good about now." Jack added, referring once more to the painted likeness. He really had hoped that he could have settled their affair and been able to slip away from the stranger; even more so now than before. He wanted to see what the proprietor of the bar, Madame Zalks, looked like in person.

"Nay, that's not what I'm after," the stranger hissed, backhanding Jack with his rusted flintlock pistol.

"Ouch," Jack murmured, rubbing his cheek. While Jack was not the tallest nor the most muscular of men - in the bulging muscle sense - he certainly was no weakling. But this stranger had him by many inches and pounds. Jack decided to do what was only fair for someone of his size and stature in this situation; he took a leaf out of Alex's book and kneed the man briskly in the groin. The man didn't flinch. Jack took a step backwards in horror.

"What are you?" Jack asked in wonder. Obviously he wasn't fully human; what sort of man doesn't baulk when he gets one to the balls?

"Eunuch." The man replied simply, aiming his gun at Jack's face.

"Really?" Jack's voice was suddenly full of interest, "I've never actually met a real eunuch. Well, in all honesty I'm not one hundred percent sure; the jury's still out over William…" Jack trailed off, flashing one of his famous uncertain grins, trying to distract his adversary and gain some more time to gather his thoughts. What he had here was a major snag in his _modus opperandi_.

"Really?" The stranger asked in mock-interest. "You've never met a eunuch?" Jack shook his head innocently, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, trying to play along. Then the stranger stopped playing nicely by the rules. He cocked his pistol and lowered it to point at Jack's lower half, "Well, you're about to become one yourself," He smirked. And with no further warning, the eunuch pulled the trigger.

**Okay, here's your chance to save Jack. Convince me to write more, and not to curl up and go to bed as I orginially planned.**


	39. Firing Blanks

There was the echoing sound of a dull click as the flintlock's hammer drew forward, meeting no resistance of gunpowder, the empty echo resounding through-out the hollow metal barrel of the gun. Jack opened his squinting eyes, drawing out of his cringe. The eunuch looked down at the gun in puzzlement, then up at Jack in surprise; why wasn't the man roiling around on the pavement in agony?

"Firing blanks, mate?" Jack grinned sardonically, mentally giving an inner sigh of relief. There had been no powder in the pistol. Jack swore to all the black gods of the above world and under that he'd never tease William as long as he lived his sordid pirate life. That was just too close for comfort. Comprehension finally dawning on the confused eunuch's brick-wall face, he made to backhand Jack again, but this time Jack was ready for him. Jack ducked under the eunuch's blow, sidestepping out of the way and grabbing the man's outstretched arm. Using his weight and force against him, Jack simply carried the eunuch's momentum past himself, slamming him into the unforgiving stone wall of the building alongside of the inn. Standing over the unconscious man, Jack bent down and retrieved the gun that almost cost him his manhood and livelihood. Whistling to himself he pocketed the weapon (a pirate can never have too many guns about his person) and stepped onto the brightly-lit wooden veranda of Madame Zalks.

Swaggering unconcerned into the bar, Jack dodged effortlessly through the drunken brawls and airborne crockery, seating himself at the far corner booth like he was an old-hand to the tavern. Hidden by the shadows save for his glinting eyes and glowing hair-trinkets, Jack took a moment to observe his surroundings and get a feel for the place before he begun asking questions.

Madame Zalks fine establishment was, in essence and design, the standard cast of all the bars and taverns Jack had frequented, save for one very, very special little inn in Singapore, which defied description and comparison. Sighing to himself in fond memory, Jack took in the ambience and the atmosphere of the tavern. Madame Zalks had made do with the small space that she had, cramming a great many rickety tables and unstable, mismatched wooden chairs into the small inn, so many that one could barely navigate from one side of the room to the other without stepping over chairs or tables. Jack had no idea how the serving girls managed to thread their way through the crowd with their trays and flagons. While undoubtedly this meant better business for the Madame, it meant a lot more brawls for her very crowded patrons. Wine and rum barrels lined the northern wall, while ladies pilfered and willingly-bequested undergarments dotted the ceiling.

Jack looked on calmly as he watched one man pick up a bearded midget and throw him effortlessly sky-high. The midget lodged himself in a chandelier and grabbed on grimly for dear life, as the men underneath him roared callously. Jack observed the unfolding scene with mild interest, chuckling to himself as the midget begun throwing melted wax from the candles down from his perch, completely oblivious to the fact his trousers were on fire. When the aggravated midget finally realised this, he hurriedly launched himself off the chandelier, crashing bodily onto the upturned face of the very man who had thrown him up there in the first place. One of Madame Zalks's serving wenches coolly picked up a pitcher of water and threw it over the man and the midget, putting out the fire. His temper still smouldering, the midget grabbed hold of the back of the man's collar and shirt-tail. Letting loose a scream of rage, he lobbed the man into the air, watching with satisfaction as the man crashed bodily through the front window.

Jack came to the rapid conclusion that, despite its small size, Madame Zalks was at no loss for customers, or entertainment. That, and he should never, ever enrage a midget. Surveying the foaming ale glass place in front of him by a very curvaceous blonde, Jack could really find no fault with the tavern; the ale flowed cheap and freely, and the serving girls were definitely easy on the eyes, and that was all he the prerequisites he looked for in choosing a bar.

my page break isn't working!

**Thank-you to all the people who saved Jack. I got a nice surprise when I opened by inbox this afternoon; nine messages! It almost filled up my entire screen. It was also my birthday today, so it gave me an extra special warm and fuzzy. Nine reviews in one day: a record! I came back early to post this, just for you guys who reviewed today and yesterday. :) So thank-you to all those old and new reviewers who took the time to review! ;D I would mention you all by name and reply personally, but my internet turns off in a few minutes and I have to post this; so I'll catch up next update, I swear. Promise on a whole trunk-full of pieces of eight! **


	40. Smithy, if you like

**FORTIETH CHAPTER: CELEBRATION! (Boogies like there's no tomorrow)**

As the night grew later and the candles burnt shorter, Jack decided it was time to begin his 'interviews'. Did Jack have a name of a ship to go by? No. Did he have a name to enquire about? No. Did he have the faintest clue what he was going to ask around about? Not one iota. But he was Captain Jack Sparrow; not one for following rules or reason, he made things up as he went along. All he had going for him was a description of someone who looked like someone else, except…except for a diamond tooth…

Jack staggered out of his seat in the corner and began his drunken weave towards a table occupied by still-semi conscious patrons. As he passed a table consisting of slumped comatose drunks, Jack leaned over and picked up the two untouched jugs of ale that still sat on the table. _Thanking you. _Although his swaying totter may have appeared drunken and graceless, not one drop of ale was spilt from either brimming and foam-layered pitcher. Clutching the flagons of ale, Jack stumbled over to a promising-looking table and angled himself into the only unoccupied seat. The table consisted of ancient, leathery and withered sea-dogs - the real salt of the ocean – with their lined, craggy faces as tough as salted beef-jerky, bushy snow-white eyebrows, salt-and-pepper hair and wiry whiskers like rusted iron. They regarded Jack warily, until he produced the ale with a flourish. Then their faces lit up and they greeted him like they would a favourite son, with hoarse cheering and hearty slaps on the back.

"M'boy!" They greeted him. Jack waited until their cheers had died down.

"So tell me," he begun as he poured the ale amiably and steadily into their mugs on the table, "I saw this bloke with a diamond tooth the other day." Immediately the table was silent – even a blind man could see the tension, fear and mistrust on their faces. Perhaps Jack had foolishly jumped in too deep, too soon.

"And?" One finally said coldly. _They think I'm a spy, possibly this Vice Admiral whatever-his-name-is, or the law. _Jack took a calm gulp of his ale; he was no fool – he could pull this off. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, Captain of the Black Pearl, bar-frequenter, patron of the pubs, eternally inebriated and foremost for the moment: a Man on a Mission.

"And I was wondering where I can get one for me onsies, savvy?" He asked heartily, slamming his ale on the table energetically, so the brew sprayed all over himself and several others. They cackled drunkenly also, now figuring Jack was no longer a threat; just another drunken sailor looking for some gossip. The oldest looking sailor there, one with a straggly white beard that reached to the table and only a few wisps of hair on top of his scaly head motioned for the group to draw closer. Jack pulled at his own braided beard in interest, wondering if perhaps all the old man's effort had gone into growing hair on his chin, and thus he had lost the hair upstairs. Just to be on the safe side, Jack decided not to grow his own beard any lengthier; thus ending a notion he had been entertaining for quite some time.

The bearded sailor pulled his chair in close to the table, after glancing suspiciously around the crowded room for several moments. Already Jack was intrigued, and the tale hadn't even begun. Whoever this fake Vice Admiral Stone was, he seemed not to be crossed lightly. Either his mention or possible presence appeared to have these old sea-salts worried into a state. The old man leant across the table, drawing in all around him with his coarse whisper of advice.

"Laddie, you'd not want to be doing that, _savvy_." Jack raised an eyebrow.

"But I want one." Sparrow persisted stubbornly.

"M'Boy, that diamond be Captain Orion Peril's signature; his mark. If he hears there's another scallywag out there impugning upon his image…" Here the old sea-dog drew a finger across his liver-spotted throat. Jack skulled the rest of his ale in defiance. Slapping his grimy hands on the table, he declared loudly,

"What should I care what some two-bit bloody cockle-shell thinks?" Almost all the men at the table leapt at Jack, dragging him back down to his seat and clamping their withered hands over his mouth to stop him from having another outburst.

"Are ye as daft as ye are drunk?" Asked another, who vaguely reminded Jack of the blacksmith Brown from Port Royale, "Captain Peril's not to be messed with, nor joked about. Privateers and the Royal Navy alike refuse to even _consider_ trying to capture him. He attacks pirates, merchant vessels, the Royal Navy, luxury cruisers, royal ships equally. They say he skins and flays most of his prisoners alive; his sails are made from their skins, and some he covers in tar and ties to the masts. If they don't die fast enough, or loud enough for him, he sets them alight and has a bonfire. The entire main mast, from top to bottom is covered in blackened and scorched skeletons, and heaven help ye if yer sailing in the same waters when he holds a bonfire night. A pillar of fiery corpses and skeletons, and the screams and the smells..."

Jack felt horror in the pit of his stomach – not from the stories of this Captain Peril's tortures, but the fact that he had willingly and spitefully handed Alex over to this Captain.

"And what does he do with his other prisoners? And royalty, for example? The women and children?" The assembled sailors looked dark.

"We dunno."

"As in he kills them?" Jack asked with a wave of icy horror seeping through his veins, and crashing into the pit of his stomach.

"As in they either disappear, or those that return refuse to talk about it. Some reckon he sells a few as slaves to plantation owners or at bridal auctions. Apparently they're the lucky ones; no slave-driver could be equal to or as worse as Captain Orion Peril. Rumour is he had many instruments and forms of torture, not just physical but mental. He feels nothing; fears nothing, and he has the Devil's own luck. They say," and here the old sailor's voice dropped so low that Jack had to strain to hear it, "he made a pact with the Devil; an accord. They say his crew and ship is none other than the _Black Friday, _and he made a deal with the devil and sold his soul to captain that same ship." The old seaman finished his tale with relish, and leaned back to observe the impact of his words. Jack and many others took a moment to refill their mugs and take a fortifying gulp of the liquid.

"The _Black Friday_?" Jack asked, "The ship they sent out to try to dispel the rumours that Friday's cursed, due to God's little wiper-snapper's crucifixion? The ship they laid the keel of a new vessel on Friday, launched her on a Friday and named her HMS Friday? The ship placed in the command of one Captain Friday and sent to sea on Friday the 13th? The ship that, to this day, has never been seen again?"

"Aye; that very ship." The seadogs agreed in chorus, taking a swig of ale and making the sign of the cross over their chests. Jack drew in closer, deciding to try his luck further,

"And what of this ship; _The Drifting Maiden_?" The seasoned sailors drew in sharp breaths and crossed themselves again.

"Who exactly are you, boy?" Asked one of the old men suspiciously, his dull eyes narrowed in mistrust.

"Smith by name, me father was a smith by profession. Smithy to the likes of these fine citizens hereby assembled." Jack replied regarding his rum offhandedly. Jack was angling for seeming like just a common, ordinary, down-on-his-luck sailor, "Me Dad disappeared when I was just a boy, and I've been trying my hand in every bar I come to on me travels, for any word of his fate or whereabouts. The most I ever got was this name; _The Drifting Maiden_." The men's faces softened in understanding and pity.

"Aye, lad, well, ye've been searching long enough. We'll put ye out of yer misery. Dirty Harold here will tell you the story; 's been passed down his family for over two centuries – his ancestors was royalty, they were."

Dirty Harry swelled up with pride and importance, beckoning with one crooked, broken finger for the assembled company to draw in closer.

**Aren't you lucky; next chapter you'll find out about the legend of the Drifting Maiden in detail – on one condition; review and make me happy. I haven't blackmailed you guys for a while (save for a couple of days ago), so have we an accord? How badly do you want to find out the history of the Drifting Maiden? I've already told you (cryptically and abstractedly) why she pursues Jack so relentlessly. **

**Okay, I promised I'd reply to reviews:**

**Willowred and emina64 – wish granted :) Thank-you for reviewing and saving Jack. He says he is very, very grateful. '_The extent of which you have no idea, luv.' _**

**Lonaargh – so it seems there are two sides for that previous chapter: those for Jack being a eunuch, and those for Jack being fully equipped. Unfortunately for Jasper (he's your boyfriend right – he was in that FF you wrote?) it was only him and the pissed-off eunuch for option A, against Willowred, you, me, emina64, cuilean uasal, DCoD, Jacquelyn Sparrow, crzywildchick804 and possibly many more Jack-loving fanatics/fanciers for option B. Tell Jasper better luck next time; Jack's luck has to run out sometime. There's gotta be another pissed of eunuch out there somewhere waiting to share his unfortunate fate with Jack. And thanks for the birthday message: I love sparkly things. And the cake. Can't forget the cake. **

**cuilean uasal – your name is really difficult for me to spell, do you know that? Trips me up every time. Lucifer is just another name for the Devil, aka Satan, Beezelbub (or something to that affect), and in his former life as an angel, 'Morningstar'. **

**DCoD – I hold midgets in great respect. It truly would suck not being able to go on carnival rides because of that 'you must be this tall to enter this ride' rule. **

**Crzywildchick804 – thanks for reading and reviewing, and the kind words! I hope your uni course/s work out for you! I don't know how things work over in the USA (right: George Washington University is in America? Geography lesson needed for me) but I assume it's on a similar basis to Australia, so good luck! Poetry, eh…good. There's not enough appreciation of poetry today, if you ask me (Geez, I sound like an old codger) I dabble in bush ballads, but I don't have the time at the moment. Unless there's a competition around with some cash prizes up for grabs. That incentive gets me all creative; money to buy books and CD's with. Yay! What sort of poetry do you write, if you don't mind my asking? **

**Jacquelyn Sparrow – Guess what? Your cameo (in which you are referred to by name, thus it's not really a cameo) should occur next chapter. You get to be a bar waitress that gets to sit on Jack's lap, you lucky thing. Only, your descent – you know, ancestry – might not be of English origins. I'm placing you more from the Spanish Isles; that area – Is that okay? **

Sorry for any typos: rush to beat the 9:30pm deadline of the internet-shut-downy-thing.

_Update 16/8, 4:32pm: Apologies: I missed the cut-off time by TWO seconds last night. TWO SECONDS. (Grinds teeth in anger and frustration). _

_Update 16/8 4:36pm: Stupid world hates me! Fanfiction won't let me update. Some stupid error. It'll give you 'error,' you pompous, self-righteous, smug grey little sliver of mutiny and misery. Gah!_

_Update 16/8 4:38pm - Ha. Haha. Ha, ha ha. Human: 1, computer: 0. Inanimate objects lose this round! haha_


	41. The Legend and The Lady

**_Computer wouldn't update, or Fanfiction wouldn't let me. Grrr…_**

"There be a legend, over two-hundred years in the telling surrounding the _Drifting Maiden _and the Siren's Shanty. The legend be as follows. In 1473 in the year of our Lord, there was a beautiful baby born - stunning she was, with sparkling violet eyes like amethysts. When she grew older she grew not only in height, but in beauty. She went from stunning as a child to spectacularly mesmerising. She broke boy's hearts as often as the priest breaks bread for church service. The summer of 1489 was when her father grew tired of her wiles and charms – some say he was worried he'd never be able to make a 'proper' bride out of her, if you get my meaning; she wouldn't be wearing white on her wedding day. Perhaps he was worried no-one would pay two tuppences to marry her, when they could get the spoils for free. Perhaps that's all just slander; mayhaps she was a really nice girl, and legend deals a vicious and defamous hand. Regardless, by the winter the father had his plan, and made his move. He organised a marriage for her, to a wealthy plantation owner or diamond miner or somewhat in South Africa; point being, the further away from England the fiancé was, the less likely he'd hear of her alleged exploits. The father commissioned a ship and employed an entirely female crew to ensure she didn't get up to any antics. She was placed on the ship to sail the seas with her entourage of 60 servants - all beautiful maidens in their own right - bound on a voyage for her to marry her husband, who they didn't know from Jesus, and was arguably the most dullest and strict man this side of the Pacific Ocean. One could tell right from the beginning this match was not going to work; like gunpowder and spark.

The Lady's accompanying ladies were also very rich, young, wealthy; so on and so forth; all paled in comparison to the Lady herself, but hey, I wouldn't be complaining if any of them chose to share my bed one cold and lonely night." Dirty Harold was side-tracked by several long minutes of hearty laughter and leering knowledgeable grins.

"Tell us the rest o' the story!" Bellowed a deaf-looking crone. He had his eyelids clumsily tattooed, bearing his name _Sinone_.

"Alright, alright, hold yer horses." Dirty Harry demanded, taking a long swig of his rum. Most of it ran down both ruddy cheeks and dripped down his chin, colouring his white beard a murky gold colour. He wiped his mouth with the back of one scarred hand missing two fingers and belched heavily. "Where was I? Ah yes, the girls…the girls… There was the flaw that comes with wealth and beauty; arrogance and conceit, which scuffed the otherwise pristine veneer of their beauty. But nevertheless, they were all so fair, the fiancé chose overlook this trait at soon as a portrait of his bride-to-be reached his gluttonously awaiting hands. All the maidens had that kind of affect on men, to the point where they'd been pampered and praised and fawned over for the entire duration of their pretty, near pointless lives.

To escape this marriage - either because she was afraid of the reputation the man held of a cruel and austere control-demon, or because the lass just really wanted to escape a loveless marriage to a complete stranger - the Lady tried to change the ship's course, and change it she did; right into the paths of pirates. Naturally, they were captured, and the crew were very keen to "'ave their way with 'em" as it were. The pirate captain, however, was willing not only to spare them that fate, but to spare all their lives, if only the maiden would marry him, or at least agree to travel with him on one voyage of the known world to ease the ache of loneliness that had settled over his heart.

It was a perfect escape for her, a lively and interesting marriage to a kind, good hearted scallywag, but she refused to even be in his presence. She was attracted to him, oh aye, no doubting; perhaps she even loved him, but in typical feminine style, ignored him and played games with him. Toyed with him. She delayed her answer, hoping the pirate would eventually give up, or sail to land for more supplies, then she and her ladies would run off; faster than the winds that control the roaring forties. But the captain, as love-smitten as he was, eventually grew wise to her ploy, and took her to his island. Sick of her indecisions and callous heart, he issued the final ultimatum; him or death. She refused his offer, damning her and her female crew to death.

However, like the smug little strumpet she was, she knew the pirate captain loved her, and would never kill her. The pirate, saddened and angered by her obstinacy and choosiness could not kill her, but instead cursed her with his dying breath that she and her crew would wander the oceans until all sixty of them found each a husband who they loved, and loved them in return. And as tribute to the captain, each husband must be a pirate or sea-faring man. He died soon after he spoke that curse, the ache of his beloved's refusal breaking his heart.

So now every year this _Drifting Maiden_ docks somewhere different, on a pirate shore, and those without husbands go ashore to scour bars and taverns. All the sixty-one maidens are devastatingly beautiful, and although every pirate is aware of the curse, they allow themselves to be taken back to the ship, where they become prisoners of the sirens. Or else, if they find no-one of interest on land, they play their trump card. On the open seas, there comes a haunting melody the enraptures an oncoming vessel. The men allow themselves to be boarded by the enchanting ladies, who kill all those old and ugly, and capture those they wish to make their husbands. No doubting that's what happened to the likes of your poor father, laddie." The old sea-dog finished sadly.

Jack rotated his mug clockwise and counter-clockwise on the table several minutes later, breaking the silence that previously hung over the table, "But why does the Drifting Maiden still sail, even after 200 years? Surely they'd all have taken husbands by now."

"Ah, but each maiden still has not learnt the lesson the pirate captain tried to teach them. They take any man they fancy as handsome, but they often don't love him. And they expect, because of their beauty, that any man _should_ love them. They take it for granted that beauty equates to love, so often neither the husband nor the maiden loves each other, therefore the curse is not fulfilled; they must love each other. Also, each maiden is picky, and tires easily of her man. Fickle, she will discard him, so to this day, at no time have all 61 maidens have a husband.

Some husbands die eventually of old age, as the curse doesn't make them immortal, but mostly the maidens tire of them and kill them. Their 'wives' then mourn them for several years and refuse to 'man-hunt' for a while. Rumour has it that the Lady herself comes ashore each year, charming every man she meets, but being so choosey, has never taken a husband. None seem to fulfill her fancy. Apparently, she is waiting forher pirate to come back to her, as she has realised that he is the only man she will ever love."

Dirty Harold's voice dropped even further, "This is part of the tale that only me family knows. Every year, when the husbands have been selected, the _Drifting Maiden_ makes a pilgrimage back to the pirate captain's island. Any man that truly loves his wife survives the voyage, but most die. There's some sort of test the 'husbands' must undertake, to see if their love is true, before they can get married. Perhaps it is the very wedding ceremony itself, I dunno. Me great-great-great-grandmother was one of the maidens who was going to take the voyage with the Lady – one of the original 60 maidens selected for the trip. But she caught small-pox, and her face was marked with the sores, so she was replaced by a fairer-looking maiden. To her dying day she was thankful for those pits and pock-marks. She reckoned the ghost of the pirate captain comes back to the island every year to test the men, and his wrath and anger scares the potential husbands so much they die of pure fright. Only those who truly love the maiden survives his wrath.

There's been other little twitters have reached my poor old ears, they have." Harold dropped his voice further, and those still awake and conscious around the table leant in closer. "Some men have seen her snow-white sails, heard snatches of her haunting song. Some have even seen the glowing eyes of their figurehead, and clawed their eyes out thereafter in pure terror and horror. The _Drifting Maiden_ sails again lads, and she sails close-by. She tracks down the _Black Pearl._ The Lady believes the Captain, Jack Sparrow, is her pirate beau reincarnate, walking the earth and sailing the seas once more. Mayhaps he is, mayhaps he isn't. He's once crazy dog, that Sparrow, and no-one knows his story. As tight-mouthed as a clam when it comes to his family, his history, his past. He escaped the Lady once, the stories say. Or perhaps she let him go to pursue another quarry, but has since realised his identity and comes back to claim him once more. Whatever the story, the Lady won't let him slip through her clutches once more, poor blighter. Wouldn't want to be him on any day of the week.

But enough o' that heavy stuff, lad. You've found out the fate of yer poor father, God rest his soul," Dirty Harold clumsily picked up his mug of ale and called the toast, "To Smithy's father." All mugs and pints were raised and toasted, Dirty Harry's foam of his beer slopping over his mug and the table, and they chugged the brew back in a mouthful. Jack soberly followed suit.

"Say, Smithy, did your father go by a name? 'S not proper to toast whiff-out 'is proper name, otherwise 'e won't know we're toasting to 'im, so then what's the point?"

"The point is to get drunk, Sinone." Slurred another. Sinone ignored him, intent on toasting Jack's father correctly.

"What's 'is name?" He persisted.

Jack looked at his tankard soberly for several moments before he spoke. His eyes were blank and his stare vacant as he contemplated beyond the question, "I never knew his name."

In the furtherest, darkest and quietest corner of the room, a stranger silently raised their glass in a wordless toast to the pirate captain.

**Sorry if I've waffled on; I hope it all made sense. It's been in my head for so long I've sort of forgotten I haven't mentioned it properly in the story. I hope you get the story of the Drifting Maiden now, although there still is a few more links I have to tie up. I hope I didn't bore you if I carried on too much or it sounded corny or whatever. Perhaps it was a let down and not what you expected at all… I don't know whimper **

**I just realised, the story Jack told at the start, about his father being a blacksmith was just a story he concocted – inspired by William no doubt – but at the end, when he says he doesn't know his father's name, I can't work out if it's truth or fiction. _I'm_ meant to be the one writing the story, and Jack still has me stumped. **

**Reviews – sweet nectar of the Gods!**

**Lonaargh – I get what you mean ;P I did some reading up on the Flying Dutchman, before I even knew it was going to be in POTC. (Well, the true story wasn't really in POTC, only the ship's name was, but anyway.) There seems to be two versions of the Captain Van Der Decken; one was that he was plain evil, and sailed drunkenly into a storm, cursed the God himself, stating he'd sail around the Cape until Judgement Day, got mutinied against, killed the leader and then either God or the Devil showed up, whom he insulted and then became cursed forever. The other version was he was just a nice captain who didn't notice the storm until it was too late, almost made it past the rocks of the Cape, didn't, and in rage swore he'd round the Cape even if it took until doomsday. The first version seems a bit more interesting, even if slightly dramatic. I love pirate legends :)**

**Oh, and the reason behind the internet shut-down time. Because I go to Boarding School, I'm connected to their internet network thingy. To stop us from running up their internet bills, the tech men put a time limit on the internet – they turn it on at 8am and off at 9:30pm. Fun fun. **

**Willowred – Yeah, Captain Peril's one nasty bastard. I haven't worked out what his issues and history is, but in short, he's just plain evil. It's so hard to think in the same way Jack would think; he's a difficult character to write. He is very abstract, (good term) and you get the feeling he can read people so well that his life is like one big chess-board; he places people where he wants them, and he knows exactly where on the board they'll move next, and which pawns he can sacrifice to checkmate the King. He's a bit ruthless that way… **

**Crzywildchick804 – I'd love to read one, if you're happy to let me :) **

**ButWhyIsAllTheRUMGone – Just thought I'd say: you have one very cool pen name. **

**DCoD – sorry I couldn't update sooner. I felt really slack and bad and nasty, leaving you all with that cliff-hanger. Hope you liked the story behind the _Drifting Maiden_. **

**Apple-365 – I promise, I won't kill Jack. He won't let me and everyone would hate me if I did. Yeah, Anamaria. She will show up, I promise. I just don't know when. If there's adventure or trouble, she'll be there when it really counts. **

**Damn it, I promised Jacquelyn Sparrow this chapter would have her name in it, and she's been patient and waiting for a while now… I'll have to write some more and update again later today. Thank-you all for your patience and kind words! **


	42. And the Liquor

**_Gahhh – it's like clockwork; like some bizarre ritual or tradition. I go to post, it won't let me. Wait a day and everything's fine. Grrr, I'm sorry. Jacquelyn Sparrow – this chapters your own._**

Jack looked around the tavern, grinning euphorically; his gold teeth winking in the glow cast by the spluttering candles.

"Then _she_ says, 'Maybe all you drink is frog, you piss pompous pig'." Jack frowned; was that how the story went? No? Didn't sound right. "Wait, wait, wait, wait. I said the bloody thing wrong. I meant, I said the wrong thing bloody." He amended, but his captive audience were so drunk they'd already burst into peals of laughter the first time, so his protests weren't heard over their shrill and piercing laughter. Even the serving girls and Madame Zalks herself had stopped work, pulled up a chair and listened to a drunken Jack Sparrow regale his most recent exploits, mesmerised by his ringed hands waving and madly gesturing to the air, and his hair whipping about, trinkets glinting and jingling.

A serving maid who called herself Kristiana curled up into his lap, batting his hair trinkets like a cat might swat at an elusive butterfly. With her almond cat-like eyes and her self-satisfied smile, she looked exactly like the cat that had the cream, and was positively purring at the thought that she – of all the people in the bar - was the one in Captain Jack Sparrow's lap. Jack looked down in surprise, as if wondering how she got there, even though he had only seconds before invited her to sit there, "Tell me more, _Captain_ Jack." She purred as she plaited several strands of his dark locks.

"Ah, yes: Alexandria. You look just like her, my dear Kristi, I swear you do." Jack paused for a moment, brow puckered in thought, "Only she has blonde hair, not black." He twirled a lock of the girl's hair around his fingers, his kohl-eyes squinting at the tress as he struggled to recall further details, "And blue eyes, not brown." Jack stopped and regarded the girl on his lap for several seconds as if she was a total stranger, "And she's English, not Porto-Rican. Okay, okay, so I lie. She doesn't look like you at all. But she's like you…only she'd never willingly wear a dress…and she'd slap me senseless if I so much as tried to get her to sit in my lap…okay, okay," Jack conceded, "so you're nothing like her. Not that it's necessarily a bad thing luv; Alex can be exasperatingly irksome some of the time. A lot of the time. More often than not... So it's probably best that there's no-one else out there like her…No-one else like her at all… No-one else…" Jack seemed to lose his train of thought. A silence fell on the pub as the assembled patrons and revellers waited for Jack – their entertainment for the night – continue.

"She lied to me!" Jack suddenly yelled, almost jolting the serving girl off his lap as he rose to his feet. "I gave her a safe place, a space on my ship, and how does she thank me? Little wench runs off with…with…well, I dunno who he is really. Another whoopsies on my part. And perhaps she didn't really run off…pushed off, more like." Jack took another swig of ale, "But who needs her? Really, who needs a gallivanting, unpredictable, impulsive scallywag who causes more trouble than they're worth?" Here Jack appealed to the crowd, lifting up his foaming ale which spilled onto his tricorn hat and trickled off its corners like rain off an umbrella. The crowd roared appreciatively in response, either to Jack's question or the ale incident. Jack nodded in acknowledgment and seated himself back down, pulling the barmaid Kristina back onto his knee, "Nay, certainly not me. Even if she did save our hides in that storm…and possibly against the English navy…more plucky and true than the rest of that sorry lot put together…" Jack broke off and pouted into his tankard. "But she lied to us all! Betrayed us! It's not like we betrayed her or anything…I wouldn't really call handing a defenceless young women over to a known bloodthirsty pirate 'betrayal', as such…" Jack trailed off; remembering, contemplating, thinking, wondering.

"Whoopsies." He concluded.

Through Jack's blur of many pints of ale and tall mugs of fine rum, he recalled that Alex had knowingly and willingly put the Black Pearl in danger - not that the ship and its crew hadn't experience danger before. He realised he had been so quick to condemn her personal actions of which he had no real understanding of. Through the haze of alcohol, Jack realised Alex wasn't some ship-jumping rich brat off a jaunt – she saw out the pirate life through and through. Perhaps noble blood of a royal ran through her veins, but it was definitely tainted with a little bit of pirate in the mix. Finally his rum-soaked brain realised he had to go tell William they'd made a mistake. They had to find Alex. Quickly. Immediately. Now. No time to waste. Just as soon as he'd had one more drink…

Jack wound his way back to the homely hostel. He was pleased to note that the noise he made thumping up the stairs and staggering into the room would have given Will and Elsey more than ample warning of his return.

Will wasn't surprised when Captain Jack Sparrow burst into the room at a little after three in the morning. He stood on the threshold for several moments, swaying and swaggering in pride, grinning the crooked grin that belied that the evening at the pub had been successful. Wether Jack had succeeded in gaining valuable information, or succeeded purely in getting commendably drunk, Will didn't know. But Jack was obviously willing to share.

"So?' Will asked, raising a dark and unimpressed brow, "How did it go? Did you find out what you needed to know?" Jack sat down heavily in a chair, almost missing it due to his blurred and hazy vision.

"I was hungry for information, like one of them starving kids in the streets of London, with their pot-little bellies and wide eyes and…and…poor little buggers." Jack looked saddened at the fate of England's starving, then he perked up and continued. "They never suspected a thing. I came in like the fog on little cat feet," Jack made little tip-toeing scurrying movements over the table with his finger-tips, "and I left like –"

"- a drunken elephant?" Will suggested. Jack frowned in Will's general direction, then continued his spiel,

"I was as wise as an owl, as sharp as a hawk, as silent as a mouse and… as… drunk as a… skunk."

Will patted Jack on the back in sardonic congratulations, but Jack had already passed out, slumped on the seat with his chin resting heavily on his chest, snoring slightly.

"Good night, Jack. Sleep well."

But Jack did not sleep well.

**Poor Jack – drunk, and still cursed by the Black Spot and on the Devil's list, and tracked by the Drifting Maiden. And his night's not going to get any better any time soon. Next chapter: Captain Orion Peril and his Black Friday; nice and dark and served up just how you like it. **

**Reviews! – The chocolate chips in chocolate-chip cookies. Without them the biscuit of life is bland and tasteless. **

**DCoD – I love the stories behind curses too. Love stories seem to make curses so much more tragic and potent. As for Jack's first encounter with the Lady; she's in the FF…somewhere…all will be revealed in a few chapters. Actually, I've been really slack with my writing, so I only have a few pre-written chapters left. After that it's all uncharted territory. I'm off the edge of the map mate… **

**Crzywildchick804 – I got the email you sent, but my computer buggered up and the message was just gibberish. Can you send it again please :) I'm really looking forward to reading it. **

**Skystrike26 – Yay – another new reviewer! I would say something like 'welcome aboard' but that's just plain corny. I will give up Jack's past eventually. I'm very reluctant to part with it at the moment; I'm big on mystery and intrigue :) But yes, soon all will be revealed. The story's gotta end sometime, and I'm hoping that Fanfiction doesn't put a word-limit on stories… **

**Apple-365 – Thanks for reviewing again! Hope you like this chapter :) **

**Lonaargh – I agree; the Lady should just take a number like the rest of the world; she's not the only one after Captain Jack Sparrow.**


	43. Jack Tar

_Nothing to get excited about – just reposting this chapter due to a typo DCoD brought to my attention; I always misspell that word. That and I misspell 'of' with 'off' constantly._

_Also, I'll put this up on the next post too, but there seems to be some slight confusion with this chapter. Cassie - for those who have forgotten - was one of Jack's bonny-lasses he took with him possibly his first pirate ship/ voyage once. During the course of the voyage, the ship was taken by pirates unknown, and Jack and the surviving crew were marooned (where Gibbs later found him) – see chapter 23 and 24 for the details… Jack still mourns her death and blames himself for putting Cassie in danger and his inability to save her. Subsequently he has nightmares that involve Cassie, where she's being killed in a similar incident to the original and he's powerless to save her. _

_Anyway, in this chapter Jack's asleep and dreaming. Because he's just found out about the Black Friday, he dreams about it, and Cassie's there, and like the first time, he fails to save her. Guilt and remorse are powerful enemies… _

**The ship burns like a distant beacon on the black seas; a hazy red bloodstain on an otherwise satin-smooth dark ocean. The canvas's hang stiffly on the dark wood spurs, barely moving in the slight breeze. Closer inspection would reveal the canvas is twice as thick as normal sails, and its colour a jigsaw of tans, blacks, browns and whites, all sown sloppily together with snarled red catgut threads. Even closer inspection would reveal the sails are not made of canvas, but flayed human skin, stretched taunt and sewed together in a macabre patchwork. **

**Dying or dead human figures are imprisoned - bound around the masts - all the way up from the base to the top of the crows-nest. They're covered in scalding black tar, matting their hair and coating their clothes to their skin, and in turn their skin to the wood of the masts. Only the whites of their wide, horror-filled eyes stare out of the dark, sticky tar; their form-fitting burial shroud. Some groan in agony and choke as the tar seeps down into their lungs, others are ominously silent. Cold tears trickle over the heated tar, steam rising from the path the salty tear traced down their blackened cheeks. **

**Tonight the main mast is aflame, the tar covering the prisoners has just been set alight. It is a quiet night, and the captain is bored. Flames engulf the black figures, who scream and groan more loudly, barely heard over the roaring and popping of the blaze. The smell of singed hair and burning flesh fills the air and perpetually surrounds the ship. The glowing blood-red flames lick around the mast, damaging nothing else but the bodies roped to it, transforming the mast into a fiery pillar of blackened tar-coated skeletons. Once the screams fade, so too does the blaze. Cheated of all its gruesome fun it withers and dies, leaving no trace of its presence, save for the scorched, and still hissing and smoking skeletons that remain bound around the mast. The next set of prisoners will be tied up next to and on top of the now-charred skeletons, left to gaze in horror at their skeletal companions with their slackened jaws left wide in macabre welcoming grin… **

**Jack stands on the mahogany-red deck of the hell-ship, watching in horror as the flames engulf the main mast, swirling and licking around the wood as one giant spiral-red tongue. He hears the screams of the dying, the hiss of the consuming fire, the smell of the dead. There's someone here he's looking for, but he can't remember who. Or what they look like. He scans the black faces, eyes and mouths gaping wide in pain and horror, hair plastered to their ghoulish faces. Even the skeleton's mouths are agape as if they too, feel the burn of the fire. Flames lick out of the skeleton's eye-sockets and mouths like charmed snakes weave out of wicker baskets. Jack tries to get closer, but the fire erupts upward, sending out a heatwave so strong it knocks Jack onto his back and sears his exposed skin. **

**It's then that he hears her… sees her. Cassie. Tied up in the crows-nest, flames dancing at its base; climbing up, crawling up to reach her; ensnare her, burn her. Kill her. "Cassie!" Jack bellows. The flames intensify in reply, its dull roar challenging. He scrambles to his feet, and grabs the tar-coated rigging. The molten tar sucks at his palms, burning his skin like melted wax, but Jack ignores the pain. He clamours up the burning mast, climbing over the bound and roped bodies, into the fire. Tar-covered hands, burning fingers, skeletal arms latch onto him as he struggles upward to save Cassie, pulling him back. The dying cling to him like spiders-webs, coating him with burning tar like a second skin. It feels like it liquefies his skin, gluing him to the mast; the corpses, the skeletons. Flames dance up and down his coat, and smoke swirls around his head. His eyes smart as tar is wiped over his face, blinding him. He feels as if he's drowning and burning at the same time. All the while, he hears Cassie's scream become louder. Full of fear. And then full of pain. **

"**Jack! Jack! JACK! JACK!" **

**And all the while he struggles, against the tar and the bodies, bound as surely and securely as a fly in a web. Helpless. Able to do nothing, save for listen to the dying screams of his beloved. He couldn't save her. Again. Before the burning tar pours into his ears, and gurgles down his tender throat, pooling into his lungs, Jack hears a chuckle. **

"**Welcome to Hell, Captain Jack Sparrow." **

_For anyone interested, the title is called so because Jack Tar was a common name for a sailor; slang for an ordinary seaman. Just a bit of a word-play for anyone who likes those kinds of things…alright, might just be me then…_

_Apple-365 – Thank-you. I try to keep the ends of my chapters interesting; cliff-hangers usually encourage people to review (hehehe; evil laugh) treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen. Only, I'm not that mean of a person…usually…_

_DCoD – Just thought I'd share a recent discovery of mine; you always write really long reviews. It's great! And if you think your drunken ramblings are bad when you fall asleep mid-sentence; I don't even have to be drunk or hung-over. I can just stop talking mid-sentence, anywhere, anytime and not realise. I'll just be sitting there, in deep whimsical contemplation and everyone's like, "Well…what? What happened?" Not a good look when I'm trying to make a good impression, I tell you. _

_Yeah, Jack's going after Alex, seeing as the Code states, 'any man that falls behind gets left behind' and Alex is neither a man, nor fell behind. Jack sort of was responsible for Alex 'falling behind,' so he's got to square with that… And seeing as his soul's up for grabs in a couple of days, he'd better start being nice and moral and stuff… _

_Lonaargh – You write really long reviews too (I'm in one of those state-the-obvious moods) Generally, I'm all for girl-power and not waiting around to be rescued – that's why Alex is the independent and fiery character that she is. But even she's going to have a bit of trouble getting out of this mess; Captain Peril is nasty. He makes Barbossa look like a sickly-sweet pink candy-floss. Besides, Alex had help from a certain Jack Sparrow to get into the mess she's in now, so it's only fair Jack helps her get back out again. Mind you, Jack has other worries on his plate at the moment, like escaping from the Devil, so perhaps Alex is going to have to stage her own rescue party…_

_Crzywildchick804 – Yep' I'm just plain evil. It's more fun being evil. _


	44. Bats in the Belfry

_Just recapping the last chapter – it was a dream. A nightmare, sent by the Devil to taunt and torture Jack before he claims his soul. Chapter 36 ran in a similar vein. Jack has something like 4 days left to lift the Black Spot, or lose his soul, so he best get cracking… and not fall asleep again… _

Jack woke suddenly to a pair of scarlet glowing red eyes.

"Argh! What the devil is that?" Jack yelled, scrabbling to a sitting position and sending the rough bed-sheets flying like billowing sails in a hurricane. Will looked over from his deep conversation with Elsey.

"It's a bat," he replied shortly, before turning his attention once more to his previous conversation. Jack blearily scowled at the bat resting on the open window-sill, regarding it warily with squinted, kohl-smudged eyes. For several brief seconds while Jack had been between consciousnesses, he could have sworn those red glowing eyes belonged to something other than a bat. Something more sinister…a ghoul…or perhaps a corpse, with an outstretched, beckoning hand…

"How long has it been here?" Jack demanded. Will turned sharply back to Jack. _What an odd question_. Then again, in usual social discourses, Jack couldn't be described as your stereotypical classification of a normal person.

"Shortly after you arrived from the pub. Elsey won't go near it." Jack regarded the bat perched innocently on the opened window-sill once more, with even deeper suspicion than before, if that was at all possible. Its red eyes were still fixated firmly on Jack's.

"For once, that girl actually possesses a shred of sense." He muttered to himself. Will watched his Captain with a sense of unease, but pinned Jack's odd behaviour down on the killer hang-over he must be suffering from at the present state. Jack regarded the bat suspiciously, Will regarded Jack warily and Elsey gazed at Will lovingly. The bat shifted slightly, its leathery wings rustling. Now all eyes were on the bat.

Quicker than Will would have thought any hung-over man could possibly ever move, Jack drew his pistol from under the bed-sheets, and without pausing further to aim, fired off a shot. Will winced as Elsey cowered in her chair, using the small table as a shield and squealing in fright.

"You killed it!" She cried breathlessly in a shocked voice, peering hesitantly over the table-top. Jack put the pistol out of sight once more, grimacing before he turned to address the frightened girl.

"One, I thought you hated the creature, so it's little skin off your nose. Two, that thing is neither a bat, nor dead."

All eyes cut once more to regard the ledge where the bat sat. Blood was trickling from the ragged wound in its little hairy chest, pooling in a small dark pool at the base of its clawed talons. The bat stooped down on awkwardly-folded wings and began lapping up its own blood, pointed tongue flashing and sharp fangs glinting in the weak dawn light.

"It's a Vampire bat." Will stated in astonishment.

"Nasty beastie." Jack added in dark agreement, producing some gunpowder from a small felt pouch from the folds of his jacket and carefully pouring it into his pistol, "Hells minion itself." In the distance a cockerel cried that dawn light was approaching. Jack jerked up in his bed, "What time is it?" He asked anxiously.

"Just on dawn. Six o'clock." Will replied in puzzlement. He had often witnessed Jack's outrageous and bizarre antics, but this was the cream of the crop.

"Bloody hell." Jack cursed and staggered out of bed, stumbling in the entangled bed-sheets. He hurriedly pulled his boots on, but half-way between struggling into his second boot, the Vampire bat gave a shrill shriek of warning. Jack threw his boot at it without further hesitation, knocking it off its perch and sending it spiralling towards the flag-stoned ground three floors down. Jack's left boot followed suit.

"Now look what you've done, you silly man." Elsey scolded, peering out the window to see where Jack's boot had landed. Jack looked as if he very much wanted to send Elsey flying out the window to join his boot and the bat, but was stopped from planning or undertaking any such action by Elsey's scream of alarm. "Look!" She shrieked, pointing at the light pink sky in horror, "Look at the sky!"

Will and Jack rushed to the window sill, Jack somewhat awkwardly with his drunken stumble and one boot. Set starkly against the crimson-tinged sky was a dark black cloud, moving towards the inn at a rapid speed that no normal storm-cloud could achieve.

"It's some kind of storm." Will mused.

"It's not a storm." Jack muttered darkly, stepping back from the window, "It's a message. They're bats. It's a colony of Vampire bats." As he spoke, the ear-splitting shrieks of the blood-thirsty bats could be heard, carried to the trio's ears by the light wind. Already the bats had flown so far Will could make out their glowing red eyes, like little pin-pricks of blood in the jet-black swarm.

"Got to run." Jack called, throwing open the door and bolting out, still wearing only one shoe, and an entangled bed-sheet snagged about his ankle trailing after him.

_Crzywildchick804 – sorry if the last chapter confused you; I should have made it less in-the-air and ambiguous. It was just a nightmare. It meant nothing…or did it? (chuckles evilly) And can you PM me that poem again, because it didn't come through properly the first time? If that's okay with you, that is :)_

_Xthexstarlettex – yes, lots of intense moments coming up. Very exciting; soon you'll get to know exactly who the Lady of the Drifting Maiden is, and why she stalks Jack and the Black Pearl, plus what Alex is up to, and I'm trying to squeeze Anamaria in (she's actually been present in one of the last few chapters, but not referred to by name) and lots more interesting things._

_DCoD – I hope your holidays will be great. Let me guess, you're going overseas or to another country like what Lonaargh did… all you lucky people… That's what sucks about being stuck on the only continent that's also an island; it's a bit tricky to visit another country. And I fixed up that typo. I apologise; I should have read the chapter through more thoroughly. The 'f' trips me up every time. I go to spell 'over' 'ofer' so often it's not funny. Have fun on your holiday:)_

_Apple-365 – That last chapter was probably the darkest chapter I've ever written, and to be honest, even I found it ewwy. Blergh…_

_Willowred – There you go; I saved Jack from the Black Friday and the Devil for you. Only to have him chased by a swarm of murderous Vampire bats who want to suck him dry in this chapter. With all the stress I've put him through, it's a wonder he doesn't have a grey hair on his head… Come to think of it, I don't think Captain Jack Sparrow can grow grey hairs. It's against all the laws of genetics._

_Hippolytos: Wow, six reviews in one day! Now I almost have 200! Miracles do happen; when I first wrote this FF I never expected to gain any! In answer to your question, I would love to be a C2-staff-person, but I have no clue in the world what a C2 is. To me it looks like some scary Chemistry compound…I'm not very computer literate, am I? I'm a disgrace. But yeah, if you tell me what to do I'd be more than happy to be a staff-person._

_In answer to your other questions, the transition between Chapter 41 & Chapter 42, you didn't skip a chapter. Time passed, Jack drunk a lot of rum, Jack got blind drunk, Jack lets Kristina (aka Jacquelyn Sparrow) sit in his lap, Jack got drunk some more. Cassie turns up in Chapter 23 and 24 – Jack's old bonny-lass. (P.S – Your review for chapter 41 made me laugh… hehehe…)_

_Lonaargh – Sorry if the last chapter made you a bit queasy. Lots of responses have told me perhaps that chapter was a bit too graphic. I wasn't too keen on it either. The dark chapters should be toned-down to the normal level for the rest of the FF :)_


	45. That Saved a Wretch Like Me

_**This may seem random at the start. I felt like a change, so a change of perspectives it is.**_

Gertrude Finklewickle was - in very essence and design - your average housewife, from her wispy grey hair to her cracked dry heels with bunioned and blistered toes, stuffed into her tight-fitting scuffed leather sandals. Her routine never differed. There was not much that this apathetic, seasoned, all-knowing woman hadn't seen or experienced in her fifty-odd years on this earth. Each weathered wrinkle etched into her coarse face belied another year of drudgery on this earth. Her usual routine began at five in the morning, when she awoke before the sun rose, rekindled the fires and swept out the dust and dirt that has accumulated in the kitchen. She peeled rotted and bruised potatoes for the watery stew she would prepare later in the day, then as soon as the sun rose she would collect the morning's water from the fountain at the town's square, so she could boil the potatoes and make the thin soup for her twelve children for breakfast. It was when she was preforming this innocent task at sunrise that she witnessed an image so startling and strange she would remember it until her dying day two decades later, and would tell her children and her children's children the story every few nights around the fireplace after their meagre supper.

She was the only soul at the silent town's fountain, and had just finished filling her leaking and split wooden bucket full of cool water to boil for the soup for breakfast. She was preparing to fill another for washing the clothes when she heard it. The sun had only just risen, casting weak grey light and long dark shadows over the small flagstone square. Glancing up in alarm, she was surprised to see a dark-haired figure dashing across the deserted courtyard. His long hair flew out behind him like tresses belonging to Medusa's bewitched snakes, and beads and golden trinkets made an eerie jangling noise, announcing his presence. And he appeared to only be wearing one boot. His run could hardly be described as one. It was more of a weird tip-toeing dancing lurch, his feet and legs about two paces in front of his body, giving him an unbalanced, ungainly appearance; a comical interpretation of the word 'run.' His arms flailed wildly above his head, windmilling erratically.

Gertrude dropped her bucket and allowed it to clatter to the ground, the sharp cracking noise it made as it hit the flagstones sounding like a pistol-crack, and echoed off the walls of the buildings surrounding the square, but the stranger made no effort to pause to discover the source of the noise. In his wake followed a bedraggled bed-sheet, and what appeared to be a small storm cloud, whirling above head-level only several paces behind him.

As both raced towards the stunned housewife, the leathery whispers and high-pitched squeaks revealed that the dark cloud was actually a swarm of bats, appearing to be chasing the strange man across the deserted yard. As the peculiar figure rushed past Gertrude, she could hear him mutter in short breaths,

"Nasty. Bloody. Beasties!"

_Good grief, he's heading towards the church,_ Gertrude thought, shocked. _ Poor soul must be desperate_. She then shrugged, bent down and picked up her bucket and dipped it once more into the town's water, completely ignoring the swarm of bats as they flew overhead, barely missing becoming entangled in her grey wispy hair. Not once looking behind her, the housewife slowly lugged the sloshing buckets of water back home so she could peel her potatoes like she did every day, while at the other end of the town square Jack Sparrow made for the church, running for his life. Like he did almost every day.

**_Woot (whatever that means; happy noise made by an excited owl, is my guess). 200 reviews! Too tired to make another party-like noise. 'Woot' will have to do. Apologies for tardiness: was sick, went 'blergh', feel better. Sort of. Peace Out and Rock On_**


	46. Forgive Me Father, For I Have Sinned

**Sorry, another quick chapter. I have to try to shake this cold. Thanks to all who've given well-wishes and reviewed my shamefully short chapters. Apologies for any mistakes, or if I've droned on too long about nothing…**

Jack planted two hands on the twelve-foot solid silky oak church doors, leaning heavily against them to catch his breath. He tentatively curled his fingers around the cold wrought-iron ornate door handles, grimacing as if they caused him physical pain. Hesitating, he glanced over his shoulder at the rapidly approaching swarm of Vampire bats, sent by the Devil himself to claim his soul and damn him to Hell. Through the solid door Jack could hear the low mumble of the priest addressing the congregation as if he were the voice of God Himself, announcing Judgement Day. At his back he could hear the piercing cacophonic cries of the bats, intent on making this day his last day on earth. Jack turned and faced the quickly approaching bat swarm, contemplating which fate would be worse. A church service? Or a slow and painful death, most likely consisting of him becoming a meal for the looming tidal wave of malice that were the murderous bats, with their glowing red eyes, black hairy bodies, leathery wings, raking sharp claws and sharp pointed fangs, followed by the main course of eternal damnation in the fiery inferno of Hell. Tough choice.

Regarding the bats once more, Jack made up his mind and wretched open the heavy door. Any port in a storm. He darted inside and tried to shut the door behind him, but it was too heavy to close. Turning to run down the aisle to the ornate altar at the front of the church, Jack stubbled and fell flat on his face, the bed-sheet still attached to his foot caught in the door hinges. That may explain why the damned thing didn't shut. Jack glanced up quickly, shaking the hair from his eyes and causing his hair ornaments to rattle and jingle loudly, echoing around the high-vaulted church ceiling. His dark eyes settling on the bats only two paces away from him, Jack turned and began to madly scuttle on all fours up the red-carpeted aisle. The entire dawn-service mass congregation - decked out in their Sunday best - turned to regard his progress, some standing up in their pew to get a better look at the straggly stranger who was spidering past their seats. His movements looked both awkward and unconventionally graceful.

By now the bats had reached the church doors. Most stopped short, refusing to enter the holy and protected house of God. Several more foolish ones flew in after the cursed pirate captain, and promptly burst into flame, scattering ash over Jack and leaving small grey dust-patches on the plush carpet behind him. In purging His Holy House, God's choice of the most wicked and pestilent bane of His exalted existence - for once - had not been Jack. When God had smited the bats desecrating His Holy House, He had to battle between choosing the lesser of the two evils: to strike down the Vampire bats, or Captain Jack Sparrow. Both had it coming to them. Jack was not the only one making tough decisions that day.

Still half-crawling, half staggering, Jack finally reached the altar. With a final lunge he threw himself at the highly polished shoes of the highly unimpressed priest. The priest looked him over in distaste and disapproval. Feeling safe and victorious, Jack turned to glance over his shoulder at the carnage he had left in his wake. The church door was wide open, and the aisle was littered with still flaming and smouldering patches of ash that were once Vampire bats. Half-way up the aisle lay a twisted and torn bed-sheet, and further up rested one dirty and scuffed boot that had been accidentally kicked off by Jack in his scurrying hurry to reach the altar. Astonished and disgusted glares of the shocked congregation bore into the back of Jack's skull as he once more turned and glanced up at the priest sheepishly. Grinning his crooked half-smile, Jack bowed his head soberly in mock repentance.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned."


	47. God's Good Grace

_Another chapter from a random character's POV, because it was so fun the first time. Approaching the FF from a different angle, allowing you to see Jack through a stranger's eyes; good times. And most of you seemed to like it. Some even found it funny, which was good. Unfortunately, this next character doesn't possess a sense of humour. Hope you enjoy anyway; sorry I can't reply to reviews – I have QCS. I am buggered, knackered, beat, whatever. What would you call QCS in America or the UK? It's like senior finals exams to see what uni we may or may not have a flying fart in space of getting into. So yeah. I'm just in it for the free muffins and hot chocolate in the morning exams. But thanks to my abundance of reviewers, old and new:) _

Jacob Deprey stood at his silky-oak podium, a sense of euphoria and superiority radiating from his smooth, baby-featured face as he surveyed his domain that stretched before him. A sea of solid oaken pews – hard and uncomfortable as all pews are – slightly grimy stained-glass windows with images of Christ and his parables as multi-coloured and fragile as the wings on a butterfly's back, and an ornately carved, dusty alter with a stopper of wine and a small misshapen hand-woven wicker basket brimming with stale bread rested on its surface: all stared back at him silently. Five long years of hard work, toil, study and devotion to the One True God – the Holy Lord – had granted him this; his very own parish, a congregation, a church of his very own. Granted, its location was not prime real estate as far as Houses of God went – Tortuga had been given up by many priests as a lost cause. But Father Deprey was different. He was determined to make a difference and save the God-less and sinful souls of this depraved port. He would be richly rewarded for his troubles, once he reached Heaven and God's Glory.

Fifteen minutes later the last straggle of the Lord's Lost Sheep had wandered through the door to attend the dawn service, most lured by the promise of wine rather than promises of salvation. Some respectable townspeople and God-fearing Christian women were also seated on the pews. Jacob Deprey leant heavily against his podium, rocked forward on the balls of his feet, shuffled his papers and took a deep breath to begin his sermon. Before he so much as got a whole sentence out, _it_ happened. The Lord stopped smiling on him and he fell – nay, _sprawled_ – out of God's Good Graces.

Father Deprey glanced up in distraction as the church doors gave a loud creak on their ancient hinges. Someone, or Something was outside. Through the partially-opened door, the Father caught a glimpse of the deepest bowels of Hell itself. Swarms of bats filled the entire stone towns-square, red eyes and sharp fangs glinting in the soft dawn light. Jacob, being a man of God, recognised them for what they truly were; thousands of miniature demons hovering outside of the church, shrieking with the fearsome voice of the Devil itself, a discordant symphony, clawed nails raking down a blackboard. They were the Devil's flock, singing his Hymn of the Damned. As he looked up in horror and fear, only one thought came to Jacob's disbelieving brain, _Good God; the Apocalypse is neigh. _

Before he had a chance to drop to his knees in prayer, the church door burst fully open and none-other than a dirty, filth-ridden, soulless, despicable pirate lurched through the door, stumbling down on one knee and beginning an arduous crawl up the aisle. Several of Hell's minions chased after him, but God's Grace was victorious and He smited the horrific abominations, turning them into nothing more than dust and ash. Unfortunately, He failed to strike the pirate down with the rest of the horrific abominations. Father Deprey's congregation clamoured to their feet in wonder and watched the pirate's laborious journey to the Father's feet. Jacob peered over the top of the podium, rolling his eyes at the sheer effrontery of having an unrepentant criminal dare cross his threshold and seek refuge in his church. The immoral gentleman of fortune grinned impertinently up at the man of God and sardonically begun, "_Forgive me Father, for I have sinned_."

Father Deprey resisted the urge to tell the felon he was beyond hope of gaining eternal deliverance and turn his back to the odorous and indecorous lout. Under God's oath, he could not refuse any man that requested salvation.

"Sit over on that pew and do not move," Jacob hissed at the pirate sprawled at his feet, "Do not touch anything, do not partake of the bread or the wine, do not speak a word, do not move." The pirate merely grinned at the Holy man and swaggered over to the near-empty pew. As soon as he seated himself on it, the horrified young lady scooted down to the very far end of the bench, as far away from the pirate as she could manage without falling into the aisle. The criminal settled himself into the uncomfortable pew, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at his ankles. The pirate would have been an image of black menace and ill-will, had he not had one forlorn toe poking out the top of a worn-out and drooping sock. Pirates always look so much more vulnerable without a boot. Father Deprey smiled victoriously. _And at least the reprobate will have to sit through a church service, even if it is the only one he will ever witness in his life. No man alive would be able to fall asleep on those pews._

Five minutes later light snores interrupted the good Father's address. Jacob glanced over at the wanted felon's pew. He was sound asleep, his head tipped forward as though in prayer. Some members of the congregation stifled laughter and hid smiles behind their hands. For the rest of the sermon Father Jacob gave a blistering lecture about how a person's life could degenerate into wickedness and immorality, living in a pirating port such as Tortuga. Several times he referred specifically to the perfect example of sinfulness and wanton iniquity sitting on his left, and elaborated on the pirate's horrific fate when Judgement Day should come, but the criminal did not stir. Eventually Father Deprey gave up and dismissed his flock. Judgement Day could not come soon enough.

After the long hour of what seemed to be ineffectual and hopeless preaching, the dejected priest dismounted from his podium and walked over to the sleeping pirate, mentally dragging his feet in reluctance to associate with the uncivil, unclean man. Standing over the malefactor in disgust, Father Deprey crossed himself in readiness of the tedious task that lay before him.


	48. Hail Mary, Full of Grace

Jack Sparrow was still lounging, slouched – although Deprey didn't know how his spine couldn't be bruised reclining against the hard wood backing of the pew – his tricorn hat pulled low over his dark eyes. Tipping his hat's brim up lazily with one ringed pinky finger, Jack cracked open a kohl-smeared eye. "What was that all about?" He asked, referring to the priest's crossing of himself as he had walked over to the pirate captain.

The Father replied in a long-suffering voice, "It is a sign reserved for when one is suffering through times of extreme trials and severe tribulations." His tone took on a note of disapproval, "Such as witnessing an errant and sinful shylock fall asleep during the most hallowed Lord's prayer." Jack lurched to his feet. Although Jack was half a head shorter than the priest, the man of God visible shrunk as the pirate took a step closer.

"In my defence," Jack began in a tone of slight annoyance, poking the astonished priest with one finger. He articulated every word carefully through his gold and silver teeth, in a whispered voice which rose and fell rhythmically - almost melodiously - as he stressed his point, "you cannot stand before me as a man of God and tell me honestly that when you mumble, all sanctimoniously hoity-toity-like, '_bow your heads for the Lord's prayer_,' that every man in this room doesn't close his eyes and dream about fair strumpets and feisty wenches. I can't help it if the whiney, self-righteous, indignant preachings of a hypocritical stool-pigeon with a perchance for alliteration sends me off on an unexpected voyage of the _Ennui_. But then again, who's to blame you." Here Jack clasped a friendly hand on the Father's shoulder and squeezed sympathetically, "That celibacy thing must be a right royal pain in the-"

"Desist!" The priest cried in horror, slapping the pirate's grubby hand off his shoulder. He was still recovering from the shock of Jack's assault on his very being: the pirate had invaded his personal space, prodded him, insulted him and God's word and… What had really shocked the priest was not that he had been insulted, but the insults themselves. They were not the common gutter filth that spurted out of criminals in professions such as his; firstly, the pirate spoke in full sentences. Secondly, he used words Deprey had heard used very rarely in his five years at Tortuga. Captain Jack Sparrow had been - at some point in his sordid life - educated. Father Deprey contemplated the Captain's last words over again in his head - in all his years he'd never encountered a pirate with learning.

The priest jerked abruptly out of his reverie when the pirate snapped grimy fingers in front of his baby-featured face. Jack raised a dark brow in disconcertment, his coal-smudged eyes regarding Father Deprey warily. The priest could have chuckled in irony; the pirate, staring at the priest as if _he_ was the mad and dangerous one. Unsure of what to make of the pirate, the priest continued in his previous vein,

"What is it that you want, you lecherous layabout?" He asked distractedly, engrossed in trying to brush off a small smear of dirt staining his other-wise pristinely white alb, courtesy of Captain Jack Sparrow.

"I was wondering when you were going to ask me that." Jack grinned, leaning nonchalantly against the gold-plated altar, "Could you be giving me directions to the nearest nunnery? You see, after some consideration and deliberation, the ambience and atmosphere in this church is not at all accommodating, so I was thinking - "

" – I shall do no such thing!" The Father exclaimed in outrage, "Directing the likes of you to such a Consecrated and Sanctified place of Worship. It would be sacrilege, pure blasphemy to allow an abomination such as yourself walk through the Hallowed grounds of the Holy Sister's basilica, tainting their purity and piety with your infectious sins. The Omnipotent Lord barely tolerates your presence here. For shame; they are Wives of God! It would be like loosing a lion amidst the lambs!" Jack gave a wolfish grin in reply to the priest's indignity towards the undertone in Jack's request.

"'S only joking." Jack slurred, inspecting a golden ring on his finger bearing a seal of some sort, "However, you're not exactly making a poor soul welcome; it's a wonder you've got a parish at all, the reception you give a body. What happened to all that, '_come as you are_,' natter?" The priest looked taken-aback at Jack's knowledge of church hymns and teachings.

Like most people who were only just becoming acquainted with Captain Jack Sparrow, he was finding himself becoming more and more surprised with the pirate. People who knew Jack for many years were still astonished daily by him. However, the pirate's apparent learning did not justify Father Deprey playing along with his insolent banter. In response the priest just glared at Jack in disgust. What kind of man waltzes into a church after a run-in with the Devil's associates and approaches a priest subtly suggesting he wanted to…The man of God didn't even want to consider the possibility of this man before him let loose in a nunnery. As if reading the Father's thoughts, the pirate Captain raised his hands in defeat.

"Fine. I was hoping for better scenery than the likes of ye, but this place is as good as any. I'm in need of your services, as it were. I woke up this morning and decided, 'what the hell; let's get baptised.'" The Father flinched at the mention of Satan's domain, but let the reference pass. All things relative, one invective utterance could be acceptable, considering whom it was doing the cursing. Jack continued spinning his story, "Me ma, God rest her soul, was always worried about the fate of me immortal soul." Immoral soul, more like it.

The priest steepled his fingers in thought, "Allow me recapitulate. You awoke this fair and fine morning and make all hasten to a church, because your long-since departed mother once worried over the state of your soul." Jack's fingers inched towards the dusty bottle of red wine displayed on the altar. _The Lord provides, _thought Jack, _and what He provides, He does so in style: 1455 Vintage._

"Aye." Jack agreed as he wrestled the stopper stubbornly wedged in the grimy bottle. The Father raised a speculative eyebrow, "Hells minions and hordes of vampire bats did not influence your decision in any way, shape or form." The priest allowed himself the indulgence of watching the pirate struggle with the cork in the wine bottle. The wine itself was almost 300 years old, and the cork had remained wedged in the neck of the ancient bottle for all of those years. There was no way the pirate would get that cork out with only his bare hands. No way in Hell…

With a rubbery pop, the cork flew from the bottle and stuck the life-sized figure of the crucified Christ suspended behind the priest square between the eyes. "Good shot." Jack commended himself, before he caught the disapproving glare of the priest, acting like Jack had actually hit the forehead of Jesus Christ in the flesh. The Captain of the _Black Pearl_ rolled his eyes and crossed himself sloppily, with one hand still clutching the wine.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned." He muttered, slopping wine all over the floor of the church - seemingly oblivious that he was dripping thousands of pounds worth of rare wine - before pouring the remainder into a silver goblet until it was almost overflowing. He took a fortifying gulp and turned back to Father Deprey, the jewelled chalice still clasped firmly in one hand. Deprey raised the eyebrow again but wisely said nothing. Obviously nothing on heaven, hell or earth would come between Jack and his alcohol. The priest was learning fast already. Two minutes around Jack's influence and the man was already beginning to step down off his high-horse and mingle with the rest of the common, sinful mortals.

Jack took another gulp of wine, wiped his mouth on the back of his tattered sleeve and continued. "Since you are a man of God and honesty, I'll not lie to you. They may have influenced my decision a tiny, minuscule amount. But what really has me worried," here Jack dug into the folds of his jacket with his free hand and retrieved a crumpled piece of parchment, "is this." With a flourish he handed it over to the priest, who sceptically accepted it and unfolded it, treating the dirtied parchment like it was contaminated with the Black Plague. A look of horror and reverence filled his smooth, moon-like face as he realised the origins of the parchment clutched in his hands.

"St Basil's Bible, stolen from the hidden monastery in Ireland, neigh on eight-hundred years ago. Where did you get this?" His tone became sharp and accusatory. "And who dares desecrate such a holy masterpiece?" The priest was back on his high-horse again, Jack sighed.

"I swear, I never touched it." Jack argued, raising his hands palms-up in innocence. He mentally flashing back to his gaol cell where he had jumped on, crumpled up and cursed Basil's alleged parchment. In short Jack conceded his treatment of the paper could possibly, perhaps, rhetorically be classified as something along the lines of 'desecration'. Ah well; he was in the Lord's house now, the house of forgiveness and mercy. No doubt the Lord had heard much worse in His timeless existence than Jack's tiny white lie.

The priest suddenly held the parchment out at arms length, as if contaminated, and pointed to its centre with one gnarled, shaking finger, "What is that spot?" Realising what it truly was, Deprey dropped the paper as if scalded, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph – the Black Spot!" He exclaimed. Jack stooped down and reclaimed his parchment.

"_That's_ what's got me in a state." He explained as he folded it back into his jacket, "And that'll be three Hail Mary's for you, my blasphemous brethren. Can't have you doing my Baptism with your soul all tainted and unclean."

**Here we go, a slightly longer chapter than usual. I think I'm waffled on a bit, but we're on the brink here – next chapter we find out where Alex is and how she's doing, cooped up with Captain Peril/ Vice Admiral Stone. And then down the track we have a meeting with the Devil, and Someone Else Unexpected. A few Someone's, actually. **


	49. Lend Me Your Ears

Alex gazed out the cracked window pane of _the Black Friday_, the jagged slivers of the cobweb-patterned glass obscuring her view of the smoky blue-grey ocean. She didn't start or even turn her head as the door to the room slams shut, announcing Vice Admiral Stone's presence. Or rather, Captain Orion Peril's presence.

"It's manners to acknowledge and welcome a guest." He chided, crossing the room and settling himself cross-legged in a leather-padded chair, his entire manner conceited and haughty. He observed her over interlocked finger-tips, his face pensive and eyes hooded and unreadable. There was an undercurrent of danger surging behind his small smirk and challenging gaze. Alex chose to ignore it and told him in no uncertain terms what he could do with his manners. Peril chuckled in amusement.

"Very original; I'll grant that." Alex rolled her eyes and turned back to staring listlessly the bleak ocean behind her. Her disregard and total insolence towards the cursed Captain of the _Black Friday_ seemed to make something in his demeanour snap. Leaping out of his chair, he manhandled it with ease, flinging it across the room at Alex. It missed by inches and completely obliterated the already shattered window, showering Alex with glass, but she gazed at him blankly, unflinchingly. Underneath her calm exterior, Alex's mind was racing_. What did the Vice Admiral think he was doing? Had he been drinking? Was he always like this_? _Is it an act; a joke? _

"I don't know what I've done to you, but know this. Whatever you do to me, you'll be answering not only to your Naval boss, but to a very powerful landowner in Africa and the throne of England." Alex threatened, trying to get the mad-man in front of her to see reason.

"Piffle," He spat, "Your pathetic acts of bravado won't work with me." He whispered in rage, his voice tight and barely more than a low hiss, his handsome features transforming into a mask of spite and malice, "No-one cares for your fate. You know as well as I that you turned your back on your family and the power it provided years ago, your rich fiancé – Lafew – isn't going to marry you now, and Sparrow surely as Hell can't be bothered giving you the time of day." He sneered. Alex shrugged apathetically.

"The deepest circle of Hell is reserved for betrayers and mutineers." She replied indifferently, ambiguously. Again Peril's attitude took a sudden turn. He began laughing feverishly, clutching the sides of a small writing desk for support as he doubled over in jest.

"Indeed it is," he chuckled, "But let's just say: your Jack's been on the reservation list for some time now." Captain Orion pulled a small, curved jewelled dagger from his sleeve and begun inspecting it, unconcerned. "But after today, patient old _Captain_ Jack's wait is finally over." Alex couldn't quite reign in her thoughts and emotions before Peril saw them.

"Regretful?" He noted. "Slightly guilt ridden? What made you think you could ever hope to become a pirate anyway?" Alex just gazed at him steadily with unreadable eyes. "Damn you!" He bellowed, overturning the table in annoyance, his mood taking another turn for the worse. Papers, oil-skinned maps and glass shards sprinkled over the polished floor. He'd never been treated like this in his life, certainly not by some women dressed in breeches. In two strides he'd crossed the room to where Alex sat by the window, his dagger still in his hand. She watched with unattached interest as he advanced towards her, white-hot fury in his eyes and cold steel clasped tightly in his white-knuckled fingers. Pinning her to the wall with one powerful hand, he waved the crooked dagger - with its glinting deadly point - under her nose. His hot breath, as dry as the flames of Hell, fanned over her cool face as he hissed,

"It would give me great pleasure just to kill you now." Alex hoped he couldn't hear her heart hammering in her chest as she struggled not to squirm and recoil from his grasp. "But that would take all the fun out of it." He tried to stare her down, but Alex averted her eyes. Captain Peril placed the pointed tip of the dagger underneath her chin, and pushed it upward. A small trickle of Alex's blood seeped down the blade when she refused to lift her eyes to meet his. Unseen by Peril, Alex's hand strained behind her as she struggled to grasp any remaining shards of glass still left on the window-sill from when Peril had slammed a chair through it. She sucked in a gasp as she felt a serrated edge bite into her finger-tip. Resolutely looking at neither Peril or the window-sill, she gently wrapped her fingers around the glass shard and slowly brought her hand back to her side.

"Did you hear what I said, wench, or are you deaf as well as foolishly imprudent?"

"I'm all ears." Alex replied sarcastically. Orion withdrew the dagger from underneath her chin and observed the droplets of blood clinging to the dagger. He licked them off the hilt, grinning wolfishly, the diamond tooth gleaming in glee. When he dropped his gaze towards the dagger once more, Alex struck. With all the force she could muster she threw the deadly-sharp glass shard – like a crystalline dagger – straight for the Captain's black heart. Captain Orion's body jerked back as the glass buried itself deep into his flesh. Startled, he glanced down at the bloody stain blossoming over his shirt, his fingers clawing at the open flesh. In shock his black eyes sought out Alex's blue ones, searching, beseeching. He took a final, shuddering gasp of air. Then, inexplicably, he began laughing. His booming bellow echoed off the mahogany walls and rattled the chandelier above them. Alex drew back towards the wall, alarmed.

"You missed." He finally offered merrily after his bout of laughter was finished. He closed the gap between them once more, raising the dagger. "And by the way," he whispered, the dagger waving hypnotically in front of Alex's nose, "you throw like a girl."

**So by now you're probably all wondering, 'when is this saga going to end?' I apologise for drawing out this FF. I would never have foreseen it to carry on for over 50 chapters. I will get it concluded before 100, I promise (joking; it'll be done long before then. I hope) I just don't know how to end it. Endings are always the worse bits of stories; they're so… final. I was thinking perhaps I'd do a follow-up. I don't know; I suppose I'll have to finish this one first and see where they all end up before I even consider a sequel. And maybe I'd find somewhere to put the finished product, the whole thing, not segmented into bits of chapters…I don't know. The future is a scary place. **


	50. Staring Daggers

**I know it's nowhere near my best work (excuses, excuses; exams are draining) but you guys have been so patient with me, so I'm trying to update more often and regularly. **

Alex shrunk back, expecting the dagger to rip across her throat or plunge into her heart in a second. But death did not come swiftly, and the dagger did not tear into her flesh. Peril continued talking.

"You distracted me, Miss Alex; it's rude to interrupt. Didn't your mother ever teach you any manners or social etiquette?"

"You do like the sound of your voice a hell of a lot. Didn't your mother ever teach you it's rude to dominate a conversation so?" Peril gently placed the flat blade of the dagger over Alex's mouth.

"Obviously she didn't teach you; women should be seen and not heard. You must be a very slow learner." The dagger snaked back and forth again restlessly like a malevolent spider spinning its web. Alex could see he was dying to drive it through her heart, but for some reason he held back. Composing himself once more, Captain Orion continued his lecture,

"Regardless, my little Papillion, you're sending me off on a wild tangent again. If you would care to return to our previous topic of conversation, I believe we were discussing merits and failures of ears… Where were we… Ah yes, incidentally, I once had a collection of ears." He continued blandly, using the blade of the dagger to push back the strands of Alex's blonde hair that had fallen over her neck. Her ear now exposed, Orion circled it thoughtfully with the weapon. "Yours is quite a handsome-looking ear, if I may be so bold."

"You can take it then, if it so pleases you." Alex snapped, "For it is doing nothing of substance save for listening to your blether. I can easily spare it." If he was going to kill her, she might as well get it over and done with. Alex felt the burning bite of the dagger as Captain Peril appeared to take her up on her offer. Eyes wide with shock, Alex felt the dagger carve what felt like a small skull and crossbones in the space between her ear and her cheekbone.

"Don't bump me or you will end up losing your ear." He scolded as if reprimanding a child for shifting whilst getting a portrait painted. _The man truly is mad,_ Alex thought, her stomach dropping in horror as she struggled against the pain of the dagger searing her skin. "Now see, this is the root of all your problems." He murmured as he stepped back to regard his masterpiece; his etched signature mark on Alex's flesh. He considered it proudly as if he had painted an exquisite work of art. "If you didn't keep such a sharp and insolent tongue in your mouth, you would not offend important and powerful people as much as you do now, and things like this wouldn't happen to you so frequently."

Captain Peril circled with his dagger again, like a hawk circles as it decides on the calibre of its weakened prey. His mouth curled into a cruel smile like the curved blade of a deadly smictar, his eyes as dark as the sky at witching hour. Holding the dagger - as crooked as his smirk - poised and aloft once more, he continued, "Besides, it's rather unladylike to wield such a crude instrument." The dagger inched closer to her tightly closed lips, "On the other hand, your tongue can provide _such_ entertainment, with all its jibes and jeers. It would be a shame to deprive the world of your wit." The wicked silver drew back once more, toying with her, the glint of the candle-light reflecting off its well-polished surface, showing a mirror-image of her wide eyes. "So decide, young Alex, on the fate of your beloved tongue. I can either cut the poisoned instrument out for you, or sharpen its point for you to wield with more proficiency. Consider carefully." He cautioned in a low breath, like the near silent but deadly hiss of a coiled asp. Alex seemed to take him at his word, contemplating his grisly proposal for several moments.

"The offer stands as before, _my Lord_. My ear, or nought. I make no middle-grounds." Again something flickered behind Captain Peril's cold expanse of dark eyes, and his tone and features changed once more. He smiled boyishly, disarming Alex even more. She didn't know whether he purposely acted the way he did, or if he truly was mad.

"A stubborn strumpet... Interesting. I like stubborn strumpets the best." He mused, his thoughts almost private and introverted, "They're more fun to wear down. They don't break as easily as the others, but when they do…" Peril snapped back to the present and flashed a wolfish smile at Alex that didn't extend to his cold, dead eyes, "Until next time, I bid that I, your most obsequious servant Captain Orion James Peril, may take my most humblest leave." He finished solemnly, clasping Alex's hand between his own and kissing it with a flourish like a courting lover. He gave a final, departing laconic bow and made for the door.

Once on the threshold, he turned back on his heel almost as an after-thought. "I bid you receive this token as a memoir of our heart-warming reunion." As he closed the doors behind him Alex saw a flash of flying metal, but by the time her brain processed what the object was, it was too late. The jewelled dagger that had tormented her just seconds ago sunk deep into her shoulder, causing her to gasp in pain and shock. Before the pain overwhelmed her and she lost her nerve, she wrapped her shaking fingers around the dagger and wrenched it out of her shoulder.

"I told you not to move." Orion scolded as he locked and barred the heavy doors. "I was aiming for your ear."

Long after the Captain had strode out of the room and down the corridor, Alex stared at the dagger, holding it aloft as blood trickled down her cheek and pattered onto the polished floor. She felt the wound he had carved on her face, the throbbing of her shoulder and tasted his name on her tongue bitterly, "Captain Orion Peril," Alex tucked the twisted dagger into her boot with narrowed eyes, "_you_ throw like a girl."


	51. Fountain of Youth

**Righto, picking up where we left off… Jack's trying to reclaim his soul from the Devil after being cursed with the Black Spot by Captain Orion Peril (whom Jack thinks is the Vice Admiral Jason Stone), whom has additionally captured Alex. Will is still at the Tortuguan inn with whatshername… Elsey…that's the one…**

Jack Sparrow, Captain of the Black Pearl and most fearsome pirate in the entire Spanish Main, sat, soaking wet in Tortuga's town square's main fountain, sulking. His hair dripped onto the back of his neck, and for once his jingling trinkets were silenced, their bells and chimes soaked almost to drowning point. Jack's white shirt clung marvellously to his torso; hence he was the subject of many adoring glances and gossip around the town's fountain that morning. For once, Jack felt uncomfortable with the stares; he was surrounded by stocky, large Amazonian-like women with biceps big enough to crack walnuts with; a tribute to their hours of hard scrubbing and washing.

Trying to avoid their not-so-subtle gazes, Jack looked down at the water lapping at his waist. Around him floated mismatched socks and other odd assortments of women's washing. Unlike when he had dashed past the old washerwoman previously at dawn, it was now past ten of the clock, and Monday – washing day – was in full swing. Jack had had several offers from the washer-women who were more than willing to wash his clothing - or himself - free of charge, but Jack felt they had already undressed him sufficiently enough with their eyes. Plus, he just wasn't in the mood. He was wet, hung-over and irritated, and working on a limited time-frame. The cleansing of his soul took precedence over the cleaning of his clothes. And in all honesty, washer-women just weren't Jack's type.

Father Deprey preformed Jack's baptism rites between to two ham-armed women half-heartedly scrubbing undershirts on their ribbed washboards, more interested in gazing avidly at Jack than removing stains. Father Deprey was struggling to make himself heard over the rasping of the women's knuckles over their ribbed washboards, and the vigorous lapping of the water against the sides of the town fountain. He was also struggling to secure his spot in front of Jack; women were elbowing him constantly as they scrubbed their clothes clean.

"Tell me again why I'm sitting soaking wet in Tortuga's drinking water?" Jack asked through gritted teeth.

"The fountain and any water within it has been blessed by the church, hence why town's fountains are more oft than not situated right outside the church." Father Deprey explained.

"And here's me thinking they put it there because it's good Feng Shui."

"What?" The priest asked distractedly, looking like he was enjoying the experience of dosing Jack's head under water. He might have incidentally, totally inadvertently held Jack's head under for a smidgeon longer than necessary. But, then again, the man was a known pirate; to completely cleanse his soul's sins away he'd probably need a more vigorous washing than usual.

Jack emerged from underwater - spluttering and gasping for breath – several moments later. He narrowed his dark eyes at the priest in malice, kohl running down his cheeks. Father Deprey tried to stifle a grin. Jack placed a hand on his now-exposed pistol. Although the powder would be wet and therefore unusable, the Father's smile slid off his face as quickly as Jack's kohl.

"Are we done here?" Jack asked waspishly, fingers still wrapped around his silver pistol. The Father nodded regally. Jack lurched to his feet, dripping oceans of water and upsetting the water-level of the fountain, and clamoured over the side of the fountain. Every movement and flail of his arms sent a spray of water from his inundated sleeves, arcing into the air and raining back down to earth. The Captain of the Black Pearl then trailed after the priest back into the church, sloshing water and coated with ladies undergarments; some inadvertently obtained as they floated by him during his baptism, others more willingly and deliberately draped over him by infatuated women as he had struggled out of the fountain.

Father Deprey stood at the altar, preparing the implements Jack had recommended. He had just finished gathering the wine, bread and holy water and was lighting the sacred candles when Jack squelched up beside him. Deprey turned to regard the sodden pirate. He was still dripping streams of water, from his tricorn hat to his one water-logged boot, leaving a large puddle at his feet and smaller, boot-sized puddles up the aisle. The water mixed with the ash of the incinerated bats, leaving a nice thick grey mixture for Father Deprey to clean at the end of the day. The pirate's dreadlocks were plastered to his forehead and kohl ran down his face, giving him the look of a grieving mourner who had just wept at the grave-side of his beloved. To combat his morose appearance, in stark contrast, ladies bloomers and brassieres of all shapes and sizes hung from various areas of Jack's sopping being. Father Deprey believed no man could desecrate the House of God more than the man standing before him, even if they tried for sixty years over.

"Eat this," the man of God commanded, thrusting the bread into Jack's hands. Jack grudgingly bit off a small portion of the bread and chewed it, a look of extreme displeasure over his features.

"Not bad, but what it really needs is - "

"Wine," Deprey sighed, passing over a new bottle of wine, "I would pour it into the chalice but…" Jack had already raised the bottle to his lips. After several gulps Jack set the now half-empty bottle back on the altar.

"Trust me mate," Jack wiped a sleeve over his mouth, "Where I'm headed, I'm going to need that." The Father frowned at Jack's cryptic reply, but merely held out his hand for the parchment bearing the black-spot. Jack pushed the sodden parchment into the Father's waiting fingers. Deprey suppressed a shudder of horror as he thought of Saint Basil's dedication in painstakingly transcribing the entire Bible by his own hand, only to have it torn to pieces and desecrated hundreds of years later, at the hands of a Godless pirate.

Grimly he laid out the battered parchment flat over the altar, blessed a pitcher of holy water and dipped his hands in, sprinkling the blessed water over the spread parchment. As soon as the water touched the paper, it began steaming and hissing. The remaining water in the pitcher began boiling and bubbling. The Father stood back in fear and shock, while Jack leapt into action. He picked up the steaming parchment and threw it onto the brightly-burning candles placed in on the stand beside the alter. Despite that the paper was soaked through, flames raced up the sides and begun devouring the thick parchment. The gold-leafing melted and the delicately hand-painted pictures merged into one giant black skull dominating the page. Black smoke rose above the candles, forming the wispy shape of a grinning skull with blazing red eyes. The smoke grew thicker and acrid, blinding Jack and choking him. It felt as though the smoke had tattooed itself onto his eyeballs, and wispy tendrils were wrapping themselves around his throat, tightening and strangling him. Before the smoke claimed him, Jack could see the flames leap higher, reaching towards the vaulted dome of the church, racing up the rich tapestries and down the plushly-carpeted aisle. He hoped that Father Deprey had managed to get out in time…He was beginning to like that pompous priest.

**1000 sugar-coated apologies; I went on holidays and to cut a long story short, I thought there was internet connection. There was no internet connection. **


	52. The Captain of the Drifting Maiden

**Jack awakes to the throbbing of his hand. A voice floats through his mind, each word sharpening the pain in his wrist. "Jack, Jack, Jack. I must confess; you're becoming a bit of a high-hat. Thinking you're above associating with the Devil," there's a bit of a pause as the voice seems to be lost in thought, finding his previous words amusing, "figuratively speaking of course… After all I've done for you, looking out for you right from those early days, nurturing, caring…" Jack tries to find the source of the disembodied voice, looking around at the almost glowing red stone walls, the precariously perched sinister stalactites threatening to drop and skew a person. He realises he's back in the Devil's cavern, a chamber of Hell itself. The bats remain hidden in the shadows of the cave's ceiling, their feeling of malice and hatred projected even more strongly than before. Jack was their elusive prey, but they aren't willing to attack him twice. This can only mean Jack was saved for bigger things, for something worse than Vampire bats.**

**Lucifer steps out of the shadows, twirling his pronged triton through his long, pale fingers. "Been expecting me?" **

"**I know how this works, Lucifer, just get it over and done with." Jack snaps, tired of the Devil's games. **

"**And spoil my fun?" Satan pouts, drawing closer to Jack. He moves so quickly and quietly it's as if he floats on a cloud of black hatred. "Oh, look, the nail's coming loose." He chides. From nowhere a hammer appears, dark and hooked, and the Devil slams it down into Jack's palm, driving the thick nail through his bone and into the unforgiving stone wall. Pain explodes in Jacks hand and swamps the rest of his body, roaring through his veins and jolting his heart. The Devil hears it. The steps back to admire his handiwork and appraise Jack. **

"**Skipped a beat back there, did we?" He smirks. Quicker than a cobra strikes he darts forwards again, this time hammering a nail into Jack's opposite hand. Fire blooms in Jack's other palm, blossoming into searing agony which threatens to consume him whole. His blood seems to stop in his veins, his scream catches in his throat and the breath is knocked from his lungs.**

"**The metaphoric party has just begun, Mon Capitan. And like all parties, we need party hats. Here's one for Captain Jack." The Devil pulls Jacks tricorn hat out of air and places in on Jacks bowed head with a flourish. The hat feels as though it's been stitched with barbs and thorns. Jack shakes it off defiantly. **

**Lucifer clucks his tongue and stoops down to pick up Jacks hat. "Now, now. Don't be a party pooper," He chides, ramming the hat back down onto Jacks head. **

**Although the hat looks like normal; with soft, weather-worn leather, it tracks cuts down Jacks temples and forehead, as if its interior really was full of briars and thorns. Blood trickles down Jacks cheeks and drips off the tips of his plaited beard. Jack glares through lower eyes at the Devil. Had the Devil not been the source of the entire evil of the world, Lucifer would have shuddered in fear under Jack's deathly gaze, his dark eyes chilling still and blankly tomblike. **

**Instead the Devil just chuckles superiorly; how could a mortal have anything on him, the Prince of Darkness? Jack opens his mouth to curse him, but the Devil holds up one long finger, ending in a sharp, black tipped nail. "Sshhh," he whispers, "you'll spoilt the surprise." His voice grew louder and taunting once more, "You are bound to recite your solitary line, but my part's not written in the guidebook. I have as long as three days to complete your stigmata, and you have absolutely no say in the matter, apart from the fact that I unfortunately cannot kill you. Not that I would want to; we still have many more pleasant encounters ahead of us." The Prince of Darkness smiled a cruel crooked smile; one of devastating beauty but at the same time the blank sneer of a decaying corpse. "Oh, irony in it's most poignant form; to escape the Devil and his Black Spot, you have to receive a baptism conducted by a Man of God, and the stigmata conducted by the Devil. But enough monologue; you have some surprise guests attending your party who wish to give you presents."**

**Lucifer steps back and snaps his fingers at a stone wall of the vast chamber. With a smell of fire, brimstone and sulphur, the wall splits open and a person stumbles through. Still bathed in shadow, the figure staggers up to Lucifer, gulping in air through lungs that had been scorched by flame and strangled by smoke. The Devil silently hands the figure a long, crooked-looking spike and the hooked hammer. As the figure steps closer to Jack, he can just make out the features.**

**The man advancing before Jack can hardly be described as one. His skin is boiled lobster-red in some parts, and burnt black in others. Chunks of flesh and skin flake off his body as he steps towards Jack and into the full light. Half his face has melted like candle wax, the liquefied flesh tugging at his eyes and mouth, dripping from his melted and elongated chin like some perverse form of a beard, falling onto his charred chest. His hair has been reduced to brittle straw-like tufts and ash. His eyes are red-veined and weepy as he stares into Jack's eyes; dead and sightless. He bends down, crosses Jack's feet at the ankles and places the wicked-looking spike in the middle of his overlapped feet. A second too late Jack realises what the melted man is doing. In a single strike the spike pierces both his feet and nails him to the stone wall. Jack sags limply against the cool wall of coarse stone; his crucifixion almost complete. **

"**Aren't you going to thank your old friend for your present, Jack? It's not very nice manners." The Devil scolds. "Jack, say thank-you… Don't you recognise your good friend?" Lucifer asks in a surprised voice, "The man who sacrificed his life for you…take a good look…" The burnt man clamours shakily back to his feet and looks Jack once more in the eye. "For shame, the Captain doesn't remember who you are. Perhaps a little reminder…" The charred and forsaken corpse narrowed his eyes in fury and spat in a voice as harsh and dry as the raking flames that had consumed his body, **

"**Forgive me Father, for I have sinned." He hisses mockingly. **

**_Father Deprey?_ Jack thinks in anguish. So the poor priest hadn't made it out of his burning church. But he was a man of God, a good man; why was he too trapped in the bowels of Hell when he deserved the clouds of Heaven? **

**The Devil twirls his pitchfork in contemplation, as if reading Jack's thoughts, "Isn't it funny, how all your friends – mere acquittances even - seem to be willing to follow you to the ends of the earth? Even, it seems, into the depths of Hell itself… but enough introspection. Your last gift is still yet to come. I know you'll like this one…" **

**Again the stone wall cracks open and a dimly-lit figure steps out from the roaring flames on the other side. Hidden completely by shadows, Jack couldn't see where the figure had disappeared to. Jack feels dread creep through his body. Who else, what other unwitting victim would Lucifer unleash onto him as another embodiment of Jack's guilt. Lost in the river of remorse, he fails to see the glint of silver in the shadows at his left. **

**The dagger plunges into his side as quickly as a snake's forked tongue darts out of its mouth. Jack gasps in shock as he feels the steel brush and knock against his ribs. With relish, the dagger is finally drawn out of his side and Jack exhales shakily, the dark ocean of pain threatening to drown him into black oblivion. **

"**Jack…Jack…Jack," whispers a voice, soft lips brushing against his ear. He fights his way through the pain, opens his tired eyes and blinks through the haze. Cassie stands before him, looking not a day older than the two score years since he last laid eyes on her. Her hands are clasped behind her back innocently, almost child-like, and her amethyst eyes glint, full of mischief. His Cassie, alive. Then he sees it. The blood, splattered on her white dress. He frowns in confusion and fear. She smiles sweetly, trying to relax and comfort him. She steps forward and traces a finger down his cheek softly, twirling her finger around his hair. Jack closes his eyes, remembering. But then he smells it. The coppery, metallic flavour of blood. His eyes snap open and his glances at her hand. It's covered, stained, tainted dark maroon with blood. Noticing his gaze, she drops her arm down to her side and steps back. Not her blood. Jack's blood.**

**Lucifer appears at her side, snakes an arm around her waist. As if he knows her. And she lets him. She slides her arm up behind her and cups her hand behind the Devil's neck. Both smirk insolently at him, knowingly, mockingly. Then Jack realises.**

"**God, why have you forsaken me?" He chokes, anguish tearing at his throat, ripping it raw. **

**Cassie drops the dagger and it clatters, echoing, to the cavern's floor. The dagger she pierced his side with. **

"**And there's the line we were all looking for." The Prince of Darkness scorns. "Surprised?"**

"**Why, Cassie?" Jack whispers, emotion raking his throat and heart raw. **

**Cassie steps towards him again, traces the nails embedded in his hands and the scratches at his face in contemplation. She kisses him harshly, her teeth grazing his lips. She breaks away and whispers, "That's Captain Cassandra to you. Of the _Drifting Maiden_." And then Jack sees no more. **


	53. Out of the Woodwork

Alex sat in the tainted and putrid bilge water, flotsam and debris floating about her feet as she stared through the iron grid-lined bars of her new residence; a cramped cell in the lower brig of the _Black Friday_. The cell's previous occupant was still rotting in the corner of the small gaol. Alex's blue eyes were dark with spite and her features taunt and livid as she regarded the figure on the other side of the locked door.

I was wondering when you'd show your traitorous face," Alex hissed through clenched teeth, struggling to rein in her temper, "Come to gloat, have we?" The figure merely laughed impishly, and lowered the delicate lace-trimmed parasol that had previously hidden her face from Alex's.

"Just being sociable, my dear." Elsey replied winningly, her green eyes flashing with amusement.

"Crew members of the _Drifting Maiden_ don't make social calls. Unless they're capturing husbands to break their curse. Seeing as I'm not really suitable husband material, you're here for a reason."

Elsey's emerald eyes widened in unchecked surprise, "I commend you and your astute observations, young Alex. When did you know?" Alex locked her fiery eyes on Elsey's jade ones, hate and loathing projected with so much force that Elsey would have turned on her heel and fled, had their not been a solid metal cage separating the two. Instead she merely sighed and tossed her auburn hair.

"I knew as soon as Will fell for you that you had him under a Siren's Song. Right from that night on the Naval ship it was obvious. I said nothing to Jack, but I suspect he had his suspicions. I did not draw attention to you, so as to lure the _Drifting Maiden_ into trailing us, so Jack could make his move and be rid of you once and for all, but then the Vice Admiral arrived and took me away. But I know that you wouldn't give Will up, so what have you done with him?"

"Relax, little Alex, he's safe and soundly asleep aboard the _Drifting Maiden_, in a quaint and seemly abode much akin to your own. He'll awaken once we've berthed at Barbadien's Island, just in time for our marriage ceremony. I would invite you, but you'll be dead."

"Marriage ceremony; don't you mean sacrifice? Will doesn't love you – he won't break you curse. You'll only kill him."

"Maybe, maybe not. I'll guess we'll find out when we get there. He was awfully easy to win over; I barely needed to use any _persuasion_ tactics at all."

"He'll never love you." Alex growled.

"Alex, my dear, take a long look at yourself. You're sitting, dejected and filthy in five inches of bilge water. You're wearing torn and tattered pirates clothing – your face is streaked with blood and your hair is nothing less that a rats nest. You're here because Jack Sparrow and William Turner renounced you, and their lack of concern is going to cost you your life. You're going to die because of them, and they couldn't care less. Now look at me," Here Elsey twirled for full effect, her expensive bronze-coloured dress fanning around her ankles. "Is it any wonder Will is with me, why you remain alone, forsaken and unthought of. Like anyone would trouble their self to wonder about your fate. I stand corrected; there is a certain Captain Peril who seems to have taken an interest in you."

"Who's Captain Peril?"

"Captain Peril, Captain of the Black Friday, the ship on which you are prisoner," Elsey laughed cruelly, "Silly girl. You may know him as Vice Admiral Stone."

"Why the name change? What's his story, if you know it at all." Alex demanded sardonically. Elsey looked torn between keeping the information secret or gloating about it to Alex to break her further. "Yeah, I didn't think so. Head's as empty as a barrel of rum in Tortuga."

"Stone died in a naval battle off the coast of the Orient nought over two months ago." Elsey snapped, "To preserve his life, he made a pact with the Devil himself. If the Devil gave him a ship to sail for eternity, Stone would give him his soul. The Devil gave Stone the accursed _Black Friday_, which after being claimed by the Devil many years ago had remained in limbo, sailing the seas of Hell's molten larva. Stone became Captain, and in losing his soul, he gained his new name; Captain Orion Peril.

Enslaved and indebted to the Devil, Peril carries out the Devil's wishes. And the Devil wished for us to join forces to capture the three of you; I get Will, Cassandra gets Jack, and Peril has you." Elsey grinned a bewitching grin, "I'd keep the good Captain entertained if I were you." She winked before sauntering back up the steps of the brig and back up to the main deck.

**_And so the plot thickens. All the hidden nasties come crawling out of the wood-work. The two people at the Navy ball have reappeared; Elsey and Vice Admiral Stone, neither are who they initially said they were. Jack's lost, dead love Cassandra is neither lost nor dead; she is very much alive and still chasing after Jack, ever since 20 years prior he managed to unwittingly escape her after his ship went down and he almost died. Cassandra 'The Lady" - Captain of the Drifting Maiden and the original maiden that caused her crew to become cursed – has followed Jack so relentlessly because she believes Jack to be her beau whom she refused and whom in turn cursed her – Barbadien. She believes Jack will be the one to break the Curse of the Drifting Maiden._**

**_Alex is trapped on the Black Friday with a psychotically insane Captain Peril, Elsey - one of the 60 cursed Maiden's crewing on the Drifting Maiden - has William unconscious on the Drifting Maiden and it's implied Cassandra also has Jack, and they're making a beeline towards Barbadien's Island to break the curse. Yeah, I think that's about it. Any questions? _**


	54. Sacrifice of the Lamb

**Of all the debacles and chaos that occurred regularly at the pirating port of Tortuga – the port complete with the standard red-eyed drunken pirates stumbling around, sly-eyed whores in their flesh-revealing garb, the shifty-eyed, darkly menacing gambling loan sharks and the blinded and corrupt businessmen who made up the rest of the population of Tortuga – it was ironically a blaze in a church that attracted the attention of almost all the inhabitants of Tortuga. Almost every soul on that French port had gathered outside the small mission church in the towns-square, watching mesmerised as the imposing stone and mortar vaulted church was consumed by piercing-red flames. Somehow word had got around that Captain Jack Sparrow – whom most people on the island, especially the ladies in Madame Catherine's Brothel, knew explicitly well – was trapped inside. What the pirate was doing there in the first place, no-one seemed to know. **

**They watched in mute silence and disbelief as the heat of the flames baked their faces, even though they were standing on the opposite side of the cobble-stoned town square as the church. Several of the more superstitious old sea dogs refused to stare into the flames, claiming they were sent from the bowels of Hell itself. How that notion came to being in the old men's wizened heads nobody knew, but every now and then the entranced onlookers would swear they could hear unearthly screaming coming from inside the burning church. A poor soul left inside to burn to death, or were the flames themselves howling like the damned? **

**Some children swore they heard echoing laughter, so full of malice and spite it raised goose-bumps on their arms that would remain there for the rest of their natural lives. Their parents hurriedly dismissed their children as talking nonsense, but when a column of smoke rose into the air and formed the shape of a grinning skull, - it's evil smirk rising several feet tall over the tiled-roofs of Tortuga - it was then that the townspeople – the ones that had seen it all, evil in every shape and form – turned on their heel and hurriedly made to leave the spectacle of the church and return swiftly to their homes, where even the most hardest and un-Christian man would lock his door and make the sign of the cross over his chest. For Tortuga had just witnessed a glimpse of Hell, in that burning church that day. **

**But before the crowd could leave, a small boy cried, "Look! Look at the door! It's opening!" Everyone watched the flaming wooden doors of the church slowly creak open, each observer too stunned and rooted to the spot to do anything other than hold their breaths. Slowly, excruciatingly, a figure emerged from the background of the flickering flames, sparks and flames chasing at the figure's feet. The figure was labouredly dragging another behind him. **

"**It's Jack Sparrow. The man has Jack!" came up a cry. Almost upon hearing the voice, the hunched-over figure straightened and gazed at the assembled crowd in front of him. Flames crackled and cast light over the unknown man's face. What it revealed was horrific. The man's hair was aflame, his face boiled red and raw. In several places it was drooping, almost like a wax candle that has burned too long. **

"**Father Deprey?" Came a muted whisper, "It's the priest… No, it can't be…" **

**Before the villagers could move to help the struggling man of God, or the unconscious Jack, the flames from the church surged higher, almost as if it knew its quarry was escaping through its open doors. There was a blinding flash like lightening and the arrogant roar of the flames as they grew higher. Two long pillars of flame, like the forked tongue of Lucifer himself – snaked out through the open doors of church, winding around Father Deprey who was standing on the church's threshold. The flames circled around his ankles like ropes, and with a hiss of triumph the flames flared again, dragging the defeated Deprey back into the burning church. And his eternal doom. The man clawed at the stone floor, trying to find purchase in the cracks to drag himself back outside and to safety, but the flames were too strong. The Father's frantic scratch-marks are still etched into the stone stairs; all that remains of his church, to carry on the legacy of Father Deprey and his mission. Little did Tortuga know, it had just witnessed the most valiant and noble act ever to be committed in the history of the pirating port. Father Deprey had sacrificed himself to the Devil. Some people argued that Jack had been spared because he was soaked in water from the town's fountain, but the wise and the smart knew. The priest had taken the pirate's place in Hell. **

**And now Captain Jack Sparrow lay, soot-covered and unconscious, on the cracked and uneven stone steps of the flame-engulfed church. His hat was smouldering quietly. Whispers began.**

"**Somebody should help him."**

"**He's been marked by the Devil. To touch him is a curse."**

"**That's Jack Sparrow, Captain of the Black Pearl. So ferocious even Hell itself spat him back out."**

"**So evil the Devil himself won't take him."**

"**Don't speak his name; Lucifer is afeard of no man." **

"**Whoever he is, he's dying nonetheless. Someone should help him."**

"**Look at the last person who tried to help him; damned and enslaved a Devil's minion for eternity."**

"**Well, if no-one's going to help him, I will. Perhaps he'll allow me to crew on the Black Pearl in repayment." **

**There was the sound of a horse's terrified whinny from the street where the crowd was assembled. Wrenching their eyes away from Jack and the burning church, the onlookers turned on behind them to stare at the rearing black horse with burning red eyes. Atop was a rider so beautiful, many men fell to their knees in shock and awe. **

**Her lavender eyes blazed fiercely as she settled her midnight steed back on four hooves. The stallion's eyes rolled to the back of his head, showing the whites of his eyes, and it was foaming at the mouth. Whether the animal was afraid of the flames, or of his rider was unknown. Later it would become obvious to the people of Tortuga which conjecture was correct.**

"**I will go to Captain Sparrow's aide. No-one touches him except I. He is my charge, and he will remain in my care from now on. Nobody breathes a word of this to anyone, understand. Not friend, fellow or foreigner." The lady spoke with such fierceness and authority no-one dared challenge her. All were mesmerised by her beauty as she urged her horse towards the burning church. The animal squealed in terror, but the lady dug her heels in and forced the struggling steed forward. Blood rolled down its dark flanks and trickled onto the cobble-stones. She stopped the terrified animal in front of the lifeless Jack, dismounted in one fluid movement and hefted Jack onto the back of the horse like he weighed nothing. Mounting the horse once more, she trotted back to the spell-bound crowd. They silently parted to allow her through as if she was Moses parting the Red Sea. Before she disappeared around the corner of the street, she turned to address the crowd once more.**

"**And whomever it was that expressed their desire to crew on the Black Pearl, I'm afraid that ship is no-more." She smiled coyly for a moment. "But those who wish to join my crew, you're more than welcome to follow me to the docks and enlist."**

**As if in a trance every man – from gangly boy to strapping youth to withered old man – made to follow the heavenly raven-haired lady. The women in the crowd were silent, as if petrified in place. But strangely, the juvenile youths and old men found their feet and legs would not move, as if they were glued to the ground. The most handsome, strongest and pleasant men found their feet would allow them to follow, so follow they did, like the mice followed the Pied Piper in Hamelin. Their fates would later mirror the fates of those doomed mice. **

**The lady spurred her horse to a gallop down the echoing streets of Tortuga. Doors swung emptily back and forth as if invisible patrons walked through their doors, horses grazed idly down the streets, shop-signs creaked on their hinges in the light breeze. Beer and rum barrels stood empty and leaking in the streets as the horses steel hooves dug into the muddy ground, flicking up alcohol-drenched flecks of dirt. The men trailed after the lady on the horse mutely, unknowingly. They followed her onto the wooden docks and walked single file up the gang-plank of the dark and foreboding ship; the only ship docked in the port. The rest were burning hulks in the bay or had already sunk beneath the innocently lapping ocean waves. The men's blank eyes did not register the sinister corpse-like figure-head beckoning to them with outstretched skeletal fingers and burning red hypnotic eyes, nor did their eyes heed the name carved onto the side of the ship:**

**The Drifting Maiden. **

_I apologise for any errors and lack of response to reviews – can't seem to shake this illness I've had for the past few weeks. Of course, it had to happen right when I'm trying to bring together all the plotlines of the story, so I hope I'm making sense. To anyone who doesn't quite get it, or some of what's happening, just let me know and I'll post a brief summary to get you all up to speed._

_However, I do say a heartfelt thanks to all those still reading and reviewing: DCoD (for your very enthusiastic reviews), Nerd's United, Jacquelyn Sparrow, Willowred, Pebbles1234, xthexstarlettex, Lonaargh, cuilean uasal, jla2snoopy, whoever else who's still patiently reading and hasn't given up on me or the story. _

_Peace, Love and Rock N Roll to you all. _

_And yes, I am aware that one paragraph is made up almost entirely of just one sentence. My English teacher would kill me if she saw it. _


	55. Handle with Care

_Hope this works: there was an error with processing it the first time..._

_I apologise: I was doing finals exams. And getting blood tests. Bergh. Not that you needed to know, but they're just so horrible and nasty I had to let you all know about the awfulness of them. _

_And I had so hoped to finish this thing before the end of the year. Well, there's hope yet. I've had to cut out some adventures, but the end could well be nigh. Soon. Maybe. Eventually. _

Alex was awakened by her rusty cell door being roughly swung openly. In her wearied state she didn't move out of the way quite fast enough and the corner caught her forehead, dazing her, before slamming into the wall and falling off its hinges.

"Wakey wakey sleeping beauty," sneered Montana, his hulking frame not even squeezing through the open doorframe, "The Captain's planned a little outing for you. A business venture as it were." Alex's heart fell. By 'business venture' the giant was either referring to Peril selling her to a brothel, or selling her at the Jamaican bride auctions. Neither were very pleasant notions, but compared to the alternative of staying on the _Black Friday_, they were heaven-sent. She'd have a chance of getting away on land, whereas with an escape from a ship there was nothing between Davy Jones and you but the deep blue sea.

"Are ye going to come quietly or shall I have to use force?" The giant leered, cracking his swollen knuckles in anticipation. Alex didn't think the big man would manage to even fit through the door of the gaol cell, but she wasn't willing to push her luck when the possibility of freedom was so near.

"I think I'll choose option A for this evening."

"In that case, I think I'll choose to use force."

"The Captain won't get a good price for damaged goods."

"I'll be willing to pay for damages."

"I can act a very convincing dead."

"I can arrange it so you won't have to act."

"Which leads us back to that incidental, infinitesimal, inescapable fact that the Captain won't get a good price for damaged goods."

In reply Montana cracked his knuckles once more and growled. He stretched out a taunt arm with muscles as big as boulders and grabbed Alex by her hair, unceremoniously wrenching her out of the small cell and stuffing her into a threadbare hessian bag. The overpowering smell of earth and potatoes was the last thought Alex had as her head hit the merciless floor.

"Shoulda put one of them _handle with care_ stamps on the side.' Montana joked to himself as he swung the bag over his broad shoulders and tramped upstairs.

Alex was awakened again by the sound of a swinging cell door. This time she managed to stagger out of the way before it swung into her. She leant against the mossy stone wall for support, wincing at the sharp pain in her head. The lights in front of her hurt her eyes and they watered in response, rendering the figures before her blurry and indistinct.

"Ah yes, you were speaking the truth good Captain; a fine find indeed. I'll give you 200 Spanish doubloons and a couple of gold sovereigns for her; final offer. Probably more than she's worth what with that scar and all, but I always hold a soft spot in me 'art for blondes."

"Well, know you what they say: blondes are more fun." The sinister and murderous voice of Captain Orion Peril was gone: he was chivalrous and genteel Vice Admiral Jason Stone once more. It was then Alex realised what was happening: she was being sold. And at a reasonable price too. Occasionally the world was a fair place. There was a blur of movement before her eyes and a sharp prod to her ribs.

"Right you, off with your kit."

"What?" mumbled Alex.

"What is she, drunk?" The question was addressed to Peril.

"Does it matter?" Came the cool reply. Alex's eyes finally began to focus. The image of a weaselly-faced, pock-marked, sharp toothed old man with a paunch and copious body hair swam before her smarting eyes.

"Spose not. Right you, off with them clothes. They're filthy. That, and I want to see the goods before a buy. See what's nice, then pay the price – that's me motto and I swear by it."

Alex raised an unsteady fist, "Touch me, and you'll be picking up your teeth from the floor."

The weasel-man raised a steady musket, "Do that and you'll be picking up your fingers with your toes." He smiled coldly, his pointed teeth gleaming in the light from the lantern.

Orion Peril's voice broke in, "Well, I would love to stay and watch the show," he chuckled, "it promises to be" here he glanced up and down Alex's body, "…entertaining, but I have a prior commitment. A lunch-date of sorts; a ritualistic sacrifice-type of engagement I simply couldn't break… Shall I tell Will you send your love?"

"Shall I tell the Devil you send yours?" Alex snapped. The Captain of the Black Friday stepped forward menacingly and raised his hand. Alex made to flinch but held her ground. Instead, the damned captain ran his fingers down the side of her face tenderly, caressing the scar he had inflicted.

"It's a pity we couldn't spend more time getting to know one another Miss Alex." He whispered against her neck, his hot breath drawing shivers down her spine. "I like fiery maids the best." He breathed beside her ear, "If I could have a memento of our acquaintance, Alexandria Vantia... just the one ear. It's so appealing I can't resist." He stepped back to see the full affect his words had on her.

"If it spares me this humiliation." Alex replied softly, broken. She searched his eyes for the answer. His cold eyes said _no_, but his lips stated amiably, _of course_. So she stood stock still, pressed against the hard stone wall of her cell as Captain Peril drew closer once more.

His words tickled her ear, "I simply can't decide which one to chose." He confided.

Alex leant in and whispered in his own, "Too bad; time's up." Captain Orion Peril took a step back in shock, but it was too late. A dagger – his own treacherous dagger that he had tortured Alex with, the very same one he initially threatened to cut off her ear with, the same one he had embedded into her shoulder with a sneer, the very one Alex had wrenched out of her arm and hidden by her hip all this time – wavered, jutting out from his chest. Alex drove it home.

"Go back to Hell, Peril; I don't miss my mark twice."

Peril staggered back, hand over his mutinous dagger, as his black blood – as thick and dark as the tar he burnt his victims with – bubbled out of his shrivelled heart and hissed to the stone floor, steaming and boiling.

Alex heard the unmistakable click of a loaded musket as she felt the weasel-faced man press it against her head. "Good thing I didn't pay a deposit on you missy; murderesses are notoriously hard to sell."

"Wait!" Rang out a voice down gaol cell-filled corridor, "I'll buy her."


	56. You owe me a ship

Alex felt the pistol lowered from her temple. "200 Spanish Doubloons," He said smoothly, stepping over the inert body of Captain Orion Peril. Alex was unsure whether Peril was alive or dead, but at the moment she had more pressing concerns.

"A rip off," replied the stranger, a huge felt hat casting shadows about his dark face, "you said yourself murderesses are hard to sell."

"Well, that's your prerogative, innit?" The man eventually relented under the hard gaze of the potential buyer, "I'll give yer 150 for her, only because I'll be glad to be rid of her. I don't need her murdering any more of my patrons. It's bad for business… Mind you, _he," _Here the weasel-man prodded Captain Orion, "was bad news. Most of the women he bought in to be sold were in a right state of affairs…Now, where was I: the money?" He held out his palm and the dark man looked pained as he parted with his small bag of gold.

"Ah ah ah," The weasel-faced scolded, wagging his crooked finger back and forth,  
"Not until I've counted the coins." He shuffled over to a brass weighing scale and set the cloth drawstring bag on the platform, considering it carefully. "All seems to be in order." He pocketed the coin-bag happily, "Right then, she's all yours. Enjoy Captain." He snickered, ambling past them. Alex pushed into him in defiance, knocking him against cell-bars. Instead of losing his temper, the weasel-man simply sighed longingly, "I was always fond of blondes. If you hadn't have killed that man, who knows what might have happened between us?" The weasel-face twitched in imagination as Alex's new owner twisted her hands behind her back and marched her down the corridor, the wheezing laughs of the old man echoing after them.

Alex was silent as she was pushed into a small carriage. She stared resolutely out the window, her mind working furiously as she planned her escape. The dark man slumped heavily into the seat opposite her, sighing loudly.

"You're a lot more trouble than you're worth, you know that? 150 Spanish Doubloons, what a joke. With you as scrawny as you are, I'm not even paying by the pound."

Alex turned in shock, gazing at the man and trying to identify him. With the broad hat, it was impossible to get a glimpse of his face.

"Do I know you?"

"Nay," came the reply, "Though Jack and Will might." Here the man pulled off his hat, revealing his face. It wasn't a man's face; it was a woman's. Brightly burning coals of eyes stared defiantly at Alex, coupled with a square jaw set determinedly firm and full lips pursed in annoyance.

"Who are you?" Alex asked.

"Anamaria. But for the moment ye can call me Captain." She snapped, her litting accent harsh and sharp, turning all 'I's' into 'a's'.

"You're just like bloody Jack. I'm not calling you 'Captain'." Alex replied in exasperation. Anamaria's eyes blazed.

"Ye will be referring to me as so, or I'll be taking ye back to the auction house." She growled. Alex held her ground.

"I didn't ask for your help and I didn't sign up for your crew, so I'll not be referring to you as 'Captain'." Anamaria drew in closer, her dark eyes blazing.

"Listen missy; I just spent 150 Spanish Doubloons saving your hide, though I barely know ye and would certainly be better off without ye. But you obviously are important to Jack and his crew, and you know things about this Drifting Maiden curse. So you're sticking around and you're making up that 150 to pay me back, understood? That was meant to pay for my new boat." The carriage drew to an abrupt halt at the docks, but Anamaria did not draw her eyes away from Alex's.

"I'm in nobody's debt," Alex hissed, tossing the same coin-bag Anamaria had given to the weasel-faced man earlier, "Buy your boat, and I hope it sinks halfway across the Atlantic." Alex spoke with malice, but Anamaria made no harsh remark.

"Where did ye get that from, _garl_?" Anamaria asked in astonishment, her hands clutching the coins like she didn't believe they were real.

"Pick-pocketed the weaselled one in the corridor. So perhaps I'm not completely useless, _Captain_. What ship are you 'Captain' of anyway?" Alex asked, clamouring out of the carriage. The Black Pearl loomed, in all its glory beside the dock.

"For the moment, I'm Captain of the Black Pearl." Anamaria chuckled, striding up the gangplank to the raucous cheers of Jack's crew. "He still hasn't paid off his debt; he owes me a ship."

"How come you get to be Captain?" Alex asked in sulky disbelief as she boarded after Anamaria. Anamaria's smile disappeared as she swung around to face Alex on deck.

"Do ye have a problem with me being Captain?" She challenged. "I rescued this crew and the ship from the gang of pirates that took ye, Jack and Will. They owe me their lives, for what miserable sum they're worth. Why would ye, a green-limbed whelping fresh from finishing school think ye possibly had a claim on this here ship?" Anamaria spat contemptuously.

"The only Captain the Black Pearl will sail for is Jack. And the only Captain I sail under is Jack. I won't sail with mutineers." Anamaria and Alex sized each other up as the rest of the crew looked on silently. It was a battle of the wills; two stubborn and fiery lasses come together on one deck. The whole ship wasn't big enough for the both of them. The whole ocean could barely peacefully accommodate the two. In was Anamaria that broke off the staring contest.

"Oh aye, fair's fair. You think I'm taking Jack's place?" Anamaria barked a laugh, "Tis no mutiny; I'm only acting Captain 'til we find Jack. He owes me a ship, but this one doesn't take my fancy." She barked an order to the crew to set sail.

"So Alex, do ye want to find Jack and return The Black Pearl to its rightful owner, or no?"


	57. Testing the Waters

**It's been a while, hasn't it? I've finished my first term of my first year at uni – so grown up. Perhaps that's why I haven't thought of this FF until now – I apologise; it's snobbish to class FF as purely a 'high-school' pursuit. I have been busy as well, however; uni, study, working.**

**Gosh damnit: I can't even remember the next plot of the story. I've had to read the whole thing through to try to recapture my train of thought. And I can only say this: the quality of my work's been going steadily downhill. I apologise. Right from the introduction of the bad guys Vice Admiral Stone/Captain Peril, it's all gone a bit dodgy. This chapter's not much better I'm afraid; I'm trying to find my feet – testing the waters, as it were. I wonder if any of my old readers are still reading? Hmmm. I'm thinking no. Anyway, I hate to leave things unfinished – even though I did warn you all right at the start. I'll finish it slap-dashly, then go back and edit it and make it prettier later, I guess. That's my plan of attack. Thus far.**

**Arggh – won't let me update! Mayhaps it's fate?**

The Black Pearl, fastest ship in the Caribbean ploughed through the golden, sun-splashed ocean, almost arrogantly. If Jack had been a ship, he would have been the _Black Pearl_, which was perhaps the only reason the Black Pearl responded so well under his captaincy. Although Jack himself was not physically steering the _Black Pearl_ with his hands on the wheel, it seemed his ghost was routing the _Black Pearl's_ course for them.

Anamaria and Alex had been civilly polite to each other, but the tension was so great it was easier not to speak. Anamaria took the helm and Alex sat contemplatively at the prow. Both were pretending to be busy, but in reality there was nothing for either of them to do – the crew were so pleased to have been rescued by Anamaria from Orion's men that they gladly scrubbed and repaired the ship without having to be asked. In reality, Anamaria had nothing to do except steer, but it seemed the sea and the Black Pearl didn't require her guidance or direction in that discourse either. Anamaria had heard enough in bars up and down the country to roughly know the bearings of this Barbadien's Island, but it seems the winds were leading them straight to the exact location of the illusive isle.

Alex was left with only her memories. She remembered all that Orion had done, all that he'd said. And she still bear the bruises from Montana for many weeks to come. Her thoughts turned to Elsey and her gloating. Vengeance was on her mind as she ran her thumb down the crooked blade that once belonged to Peril.

"Sails Ho!" Came the cry from the crows nest, "Looks to be a slaver."

_Vestal Virgins, who in their right mind would take on a slave trader? _Anamariathought wearily as she gave up on steering. She had no quarrel with the slaver – she had a course and a mission to save Jack and gain a ship – she would not waste time and men's lives to gain a hulking slaver trader with its rotting and dying cargo. But as the outline of the slaver grew clearer, Anamaria's flesh crawled – they were her people on that ship, suffering as she had once suffered. And here she was, refusing to help them. When she had been in their place, she had sworn she would do anything in her power to prevent another girl from suffering what she endured. The wind carried the plaintive cries of suffering, and the stench… For a second that Black Pearl seemed to hesitate; the ship came to a halt, quivering as the waves killed themselves against the ship. The wind died in the sails for a second, before once more picking up. They were sailing on a direct course with the slaver. Anamaria watched almost spellbound, an unwitting participant.

Alex, who was seated cross-legged at the base of a lesser mast, head back against the wood and eyes closed picked up the change in course, her eyes snapping open. "Was that you?" She asked Anamaria.

"I haven't been steering this bloody ship since we left port." Anamaria snapped back.


	58. A Better One

**Bonjour, le amours. Okay, I don't even know what I tried to say there... My uni writing course lecturer is encouraging us all to 'publish' ourselves - write freelance spec articles etc. Scary stuff. Just uploading to fanfiction net is scary enough for me for the time being. Finding time to write anything that is not assignment-y is also difficult. Special thanks to my very, very, incredibly loyal reviewers - DCoD (yaaaay!) xinaxheartbeat (also yaaaay) & willowred (yaaay!)**

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The heavily packed slave trader ship moved slowly, and although armed, was difficult to manoeuvre and difficult to fire with. However, pirates left these ships alone as they were too cumbersome to make a hasty getaway on, and slaves were a commodity too difficult to ship over the world for the inexperienced. Many thought it was simply not worth their while, and expenses far outweighed the gains. The stench on the ship was awful also – as bad as the poop deck, only ten times worse. The smell had been the very thing that had alerted the crew to their presence at the start.

Unsuspecting of foul play, and almost arrogant in their certainty that no-one would dare attack their ship, the slave traders had happily given way to let the _Black Pearl_ pass. Which the Pearl did not. As they drew past the hulking ship, the Black Pearl suddenly laid itself aboard. The crew were thrown violently about the deck. Anamaria swore colourfully.

"What the hell is it doing? They're going to think we're attacking them!" Alex had been sitting in quiet contemplation.

"Why don't we?"

Anamaria cut her eyes from the slavers hull looming up before them and bore her dark eyes into Alex's light ones, "Why don't we what?"

"Take the slaver. Free your people." Anamaria looked taken back.

"We're saving Jack." She finally offered, somewhat weakly, "And they're not my people – they're from a neighbouring tribe. We do not talk to each other."

"I'm a linguist. That was the main reason I was hired as crew, but I haven't even barely spoken three words of anything other than English. And when I did, it was a bit of a disaster. But I'm certain I could communicate with these people. They are still your people, regardless of whether or not you speak with the same tongue. You have a duty to them."

"I have no duty to them – my people sold me into the same life these people are now facing."

"So – now's your chance to save thousands of people suffering what you had to. Tell me, do we go on to save the life of one pirate, or stay back to set free thousands of innocent souls?"

"We don't have time for this." Anamaria hissed, almond-cat eyes narrowing in irritation. Alex regarded Anamaria carefully. "You're judgement is flawed regardless." She finally concluded, "You love Jack so much you would condemn thousands of women, children and men to lives of slavery, cruelly and death."

"I don't fancy him!" Anamaria practically spat. "He owes me a ship."

"Well, take the Pearl." Alex reasoned logically. Anamaria snapped back like whiplash.

"I don't want that one."

"The Black Pearl is the fastest ship in the Carribbean; how can you not want her?"

"I want a better one."

"How about that one?" Alex gestured dramatically to the slaver now parallel to their port side.

Anamaria's eyes narrowed as she thrust her face into Alex's. Her fists were almost raised, clenched into tight balls, her stubborn jaw set forward, her mouth tightened into a scowl, eyes narrow. Alex thought she was going to literally get decked. Finally one fist slowly unfurled into a jabbing finger, and her set jaw loosened enough to allow her to growl through ground teeth.

"I ought to feed you to the sharks." Alex took a step back, hands raised in defence.

"Okay, okay." She conceded. "I'll sort it out with them. I'll explain we weren't watching the wheel, the keel's loose, the rudder's cracked, something to that effect."

Anamaria gave a swift, sharp nod of assent. "You do that."

"Okay, just let me handle it." Alex said sincerely, turning to face the slaver and the tense crew aboard it. And smiled a broad, almost Jack-like smile; - smile of crafty roguishness.


End file.
